Chapter Text
Will was used to settling.
It had been ingrained in him a long time ago, perhaps before he was even born and was just a concept in his mother's womb. An inherited trait from her, he often thinks, fated to be apart of his DNA from the beginning.
And he was okay with it, for the most part. As okay as he could be, living in a shitty house with a shitty father in the run down part of town near the power plant that pumped smog into the air like it had a personal vendetta against proper lung health.
Inside, bits of faded wallpaper were peeling at the edges, the carpets had stains and the doorbell didn't work. It was almost always pitch black on their street during the night, most of the street lamps burned out and forgotten.
This side of Hawkins felt marooned, cast adrift in cracked concrete and overgrown weeds. Frozen in time and cut off with clear lines drawn in the sand where money began and ended. It was hard to believe that you could go maybe ten minutes down the road, over the railroad tracks and end back up in picture perfect suburbia.
In some sort of cosmically ironic way, it felt fitting that the nerdy, closeted, slightly effeminate gay kid would be shunned socially and somehow also geographically. Go figure.
He tried to take most things in stride anyway. Will was good at that. He pretended the dirty looks and slurs hurled in the hallways didn't affect him. He ignored his father's alcohol problem until it was physically slamming him into a wall, but then could turn around and act like nothing was wrong the next day.
It's not like every aspect of his life was terrible.
He had his mom, who called him every other day and sent him a thoughtful but meager amount of money every two weeks from New York in addition to her alimony paychecks to Lonnie. She'd been out of Hawkins for a few years now, forced to move after her extremely messy divorce. It was no fault of her own, she hated leaving him and the two of them had cried for months over it— but after her very public meltdown after all the stress Lonnie had caused her and the resulting involuntary psych hold…Jonathan all but begged her to move in with him in New York. His brother had assured him they were building a better life for him once Will turned eighteen and was no longer a captive of the state of Indiana and his father alike.
And he had friends—well, five friends really—that he had known since childhood and could rely on for the most part. They were there for him through it all, never once making him feel bad for resulting emotional issues that had been inherited from the situation. They tried to keep him blessedly distracted to when they could, whether it was in person or online.
He even had his own cell phone and home computer, both passed down from his brother when he left for college, but nonetheless a coveted luxury in his tax bracket.
Will spent most of his time on both, at least when he wasn't drawing or painting. Lonnie thankfully worked often and late, doing night shifts at the auto-parts manufacturer a couple minutes outside of town. When he wasn't at work, his ass was glued to a stool in the latest dive bar he hadn't been banned from yet.
Needless to say, Will spent a lot of time alone in the quiet house, chatting with his small circle of friends on AIM or mindlessly scrolling through D&D forums, sometimes playing Mike's loaned copy of Baldurs Gate II or posting digital works on his DeviantArt account.
He didn't mind being alone, not really. Sure, he missed Jonathan terribly and wished he would return his texts and calls more often and the house bordered on menacing sometimes with him gone, but Will managed.
He cooked his own meals, cleaned the house, and bought groceries and supplies with the money his mom would send him. Hell, Will would even pay the past due bills that had piled up on the kitchen counter. Sometimes he swore he was the only reason the electricity hadn't been cut off yet.
It was impressive, honestly, that a seventeen year old boy could be as self sufficient as he was. He was like a mini adult—responsibility packaged up neatly and came complete with his own key strung up on a pretty chain Max had given him worn everyday under his shirt. Lonnie would lock him out otherwise.
A part of him liked to think he thrived in the loneliness. He knew technically he wasn't truly alone, not really, his friends—especially Mike— would protest loudly if they ever heard him imply otherwise.
But things can change. They were seniors now, halfway through their final year of high school. It was inevitable, really. They weren't kids anymore. Best friends will get older and develop other interests besides playing tabletop games every weekend and trying to beat each others high scores in Doom. They started dating each other and stopped hanging out as a group as frequently.
And Will tried to be happy for them, really. Lucas was good for Max, Dustin seemed happy with his weird nebulous situation-ship with Stacey Albright and Jane was clearly head over heels for Mike. There was no reason for him to be so bitter when none of them could control the fact that is wasn't as easy for Will as it was for his friends.
They knew, of course, he had only come out to them privately just last year. All of them were painfully aware that there weren't any other out gay boys in Hawkins that Will could so easily turn to. Sure, it was 2003, and the country was somewhat more open to the concept of queerness than in his moms day, but it was still a small town in fucking Indiana. A very small town, and he still lived under his fathers roof. Lonnie's—who always had his suspicions from what seemed like the moment Will had been born.
And all of them tried, really tried not to rub their happiness in his face.
So he smothered his bitterness when Mike had turned him down to hang out that upcoming weekend citing a planned date with Jane. It seemed par for the course these days, getting to see his best friend less and less.
Really, it was starting to eat him up inside if he was being honest. The unwarranted jealously towards a girl who had only ever been nice to him swirled uncontrollably, rotting away in the darker parts of his mind.
He had no right to secretly dislike her as much as he did. She was kind, a little ditzy sometimes but sweet. She seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve and moved through life with a confidence Will wished he had. Objectively beautiful too, matching that ethereal quality Mike had.
He felt like a terrible person anytime Mike mentioned her or picked her over him, the possessive green monster inside him surging to life with a wounded roar. It always cried out from its confines in Will's chest, desperate to go back to how things used to be between them. Back to a time when they were little, before Jane had ever moved to Hawkins, when Mike had picked him every time—no matter what. When he was always by his side whenever he felt alone or when Lonnie got to be too much to handle. Supported him through his parents messy divorce and the dreadful news that Lonnie had won custody over Will.
He longed for the sweet boy who held him at night during sleepovers and protected him on the playground from their bullies and threatened anyone who tried to separate them.
Ever since they met when they were five, Mike had always taken care of him. It was why Will had fallen in love with him in the first place. And that maybe, probably, definitely had been a bad thing—being so reliant on Mike's undivided attention that now that he didn't have it anymore it felt like a piece of his soul always felt like it was actively dying.
But Mike was straight, Will was gay, and he had forced himself to come to terms with that a long time ago. When they were thirteen and Jane weaseled her way into their bubble, taking up Will's space by Mike's side like she always owned it.
So Will had settled like he always did.
Took a look at his meager lot in life and decided to accept it if it meant Mike was happy. Boxed up his too big feelings and only dared to take them out on nights when the the loneliness got the better of him and Will had no choice but to rub one out to the thought of him. He would cum in his fist wishing it had been Mike's instead, and then the following rush of shame would be so intense he would immediately shove the feelings back in the box where they belonged, the guilt gnawing at his bones like a starving mutt.
So he just had smiled at Mike in class and wished them well on their date. Mike at least had the decency to look genuinely regretful, but still saw him off at the bus stop that afternoon with a quick promise to text him later.
The house was dark and empty when Will finally got off at his stop. It somehow loomed more ominous than usual, the thick clouds that had gathered throughout the day choking out the early evening sunlight and casting a dim pall over everything.
He moved through his usual evening routine. Flipped on every single light possible to chase away the paranoia that never seemed leave his mind. He let Chester back inside and fed him, feeling slightly less alone now that the big dog had resumed slobbering all over the kitchen floor.
Lonnie must have just left, the stench of tobacco from his nasty cigars lingering from the ash tray on the counter, so Will felt a bit freer when he changed into a pair of soft light blue sweatpants and cozy cream sweater he had stolen from Max during their last sleepover. It was risky to be wearing such feminine clothing but goddammit this was his home too, and today kinda sucked so he had to take the little pleasures when he could.
Chester curled up in his usual place by his feet while he watched a rerun of Punk'd on MTV and ate his lackluster dinner of reheated spaghetti.
It was a bit pathetic for a Friday night, but it felt fitting considering the day he had.
There was one class he didn't share with any of his friends, AP Art, leaving the passing period afterwards prime time for Andy and Chance and their Letterman jacket-clad drones to tail Will through the hall and shout insults at him.
Sometimes they got bored and the teasing was kept to a minimum, but Andy had been in rare form that day. Shoulder-checked Will so hard into the lockers he dropped everything he was carrying, including his sketchbook. Full of boring landscapes, mindless doodles, and nude figures — completely normal for any advanced art student practicing anatomy, but perfect cannon fodder for a meathead jock.
The look on Andy's brutish face when he picked it up was nothing short of gleeful. He tossed it into Chance's awaiting hands, who flipped right to the last anatomy practice he had been working on the night before: a nude faceless man with a mop of curly dark hair posed to be towering over the viewer, brooding despite having no features. It was more a suggestion of a man than anything, but Chance smirked like he struck gold.
"Give it back." Will demanded from the dirty floor, his voice thin and wavering. The other kids in the hall passed them by, trampling over his books without a single look back as he attempted to gather them up.
Chance let out a low whistle, his eyes tracing the over the form with mock admiration. "Wow. Is this how you like 'em, Byers?"
Andy slung his arm around Chance's shoulders, taking in the page. "Oh yeah, this checks out. Tall, dark, and handsome." Andy laughed cruelly. "Hey—better be careful Chance, the fag might be lusting after you."
"Man, shut up." Chance shrugged him off and flipped to another page.
"Give it back." Will demanded again, rising up off the floor to his measly height in a weak attempt to seem more intimidating.
Andy turned his malicious grin towards him and ruffled Chance's dark brown hair. "Whayda' say, huh? You got a thing for guys like Chance?"
Will felt like throwing up. He forced himself not to cry and kept his expression steeled. "I don't have a thing for anyone. Give it back."
"Nah, I think I'll just hang onto this." He snapped the book closed. Will tried to make a swipe for it but Chance had at least several inches on him. He held it up over his head like he was dangling a treat for a pathetic dog. "You want it? Jump for it."
Will may be a pushover, but he wasn't about to give up his dignity on top of that. He felt his face flush scarlet, the attempts to keep the tears from rolling down his face failing with each passing second. Chance's body towered over him, his hulking form blocking out the overhead light.
Just when the dam was about to break, a dark tall shadow fell over the two of them. Quicker than Will could blink, a hand snatched the sketchbook from Chance's grip, the other shoving him backwards into the lockers with a rattling smack.
Andy was quick to join him, another set of muscular arms elbowing him into the metal.
"He said give it back. Are you fucking deaf?" Mike spit out, angrier than Will had heard him in a while. He moved between Will and the jocks, his lanky but imposing frame shielding him from Chance's leering gaze. His body heaved with barely concealed rage.
"How many times do we have to go through this, Andy?" Lucas snapped from the other side of Mike, slightly more calm but just as serious. "Leave Will alone."
"Aww, you need your boyfriends to protect you, Byers?" Andy laughed as he pushed himself off the lockers.
"Dude, shut the fuck up—" Lucas shoved him again, the two about to break into a full on fight in the hallway.
"Boys! Break it up!" A teacher yelled from a nearby classroom.
But Will barely registered it because Mike's big hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him down the hall like the building was on fire. His thick brows were pinched in a scowl, arms trembling with his efforts to keep calm.
They didn't stop until Mike was dropping him off at his next class, no words spoken at all. He handed Will his sketchbook back with more gentleness than necessary.
"You okay?" His voice was soft, contrasting sharply with way he had snapped earlier.
Will could only nod in response, too dazed by the sudden shift to speak.
Satisfied, Mike turned and went back down the way he came, most likely to go help Lucas.
His wrist tingled pleasantly from where Mike's grip had been bruising it. It left Will feeling a bit breathless and lightheaded.
But the whole thing was rather embarrassing, to say the least. Will always caused such a scene for the people around him, always needing Mike or Lucas or even Max to rescue him sometimes. He felt like a burden. Weak.
Stupidly, though, Will secretly loved when Mike got protective like that. It reminded him of how he used to be, twelve years old with his voice cracking as he shouted at Troy for calling Will a fairy, little hands swiping and pushing as he got himself into yet another fight. He would just get so defensive, so angry on Will's behalf that it was almost like—
No, it couldn't be. He tried not to stew too much on the encounter and instead focused on the rest of the rerun and Chester's fuzzy body over his feet. He had already wasted too much of his youth agonizing over his interactions with Mike, picking apart his every move and reading between the lines when there was nothing there to find.
Will sighed. He checked his phone—no messages.
The sun dipped below the horizon outside, the late January evening chill staring to creep into the house.
Will retreated to his bedroom, Chester close at his heels. His room was much warmer, the little heater in the corner he accidentally left on that morning toasting the air comfortably.
He slid a CD— Depeche Mode's Exciter (a gift from Jonathan)—into his beat up player (also donated by Jonathan),and felt a little less alone with the sultry synth and Dave Gahan's vocals filling up the empty silence.
There was a million other things he could be doing, like texting Max or bothering Dustin, but everyone had said they were 'busy'.
Back to playing Baldur's Gate II it was, then.
With nothing else to do than feel sorry for himself, Will booted up his computer, settling into his worn desk chair. It remembered his shape at this point, long hours spent in front of this screen when his boredom and lack of available friends got the better of him.
The AIM login window popped up, and Will signed in despite knowing no one would be on. Just in case, he thought.
As the page loaded in however, Will was mildly surprised to see there was one buddy request waiting for him to accept.
That wasn't entirely unusual, Will had put up his username in his DeviantArt profile in hopes of chatting with more artists. He had gotten random friend requests before and had made a few acquaintances through the site.
He moused over to check the request.
User100110101110111.
Weird, Will thought. Maybe they had just set up their account and didn't have a good idea for a screen name yet.
willthewize accepted the buddy request!
The user appeared online in his list. Not two minutes later, a message came through.
User100110101110111: Hi Will.
A bit odd that this person seemed to know his name, but it was in his screen name after all.
willthewize: hi! who is this?
User100110101110111: An admirer, you could say.
willthewize: how did you get my user? are you from deviantart?
User100110101110111: Something like that.
willthewize is typing…
willthewize: uhmmmm okay! how do i know you then?
User100110101110111: I've seen you around before.
willthewize: oh rly? you go 2 my school?
User100110101110111 is typing…
User100110101110111: You looked really nice today. I've been thinking a lot about you.
User110110101110111: All the time, actually.
Something uneasy twisted in Will's gut as he stared at the message. Was this Andy messing with him? Had him or Chance gotten a hold of his info and this was just another avenue for them to fuck with him? He must be getting Punk'd or something, and Ashton Kutcher was going to pop out of his closet behind him and scare the shit out of him.
willthewize: what?
willthewize: who is this?? is this fucking andy?
User100110101110111: Have a good night, Will. I'll be seeing you.
User100110101110111: <3
User100110101110111 is offline.
Will stared at the screen in disbelief, mouth agape. 'I'll be seeing you'? And the heart? What the hell?
This had to be a joke. He bit down hard on his lip, debating blocking the user outright.
He had no reason to, his morbid curiosity getting the better of him. There was no actual proof yet that this was indeed those meatheads fucking around.
The messages were harmless, he supposed—if a little strange.
They had been thinking about me?
A strange, entirely inappropriate flutter stirred in his stomach. At least someone was thinking about him, even it was some random creepy stranger who maybe went to his school. Unlike his so-called best friend who had forgotten to text him like he promised.
I'll be seeing you.
A chill zipped down his spine, smothering the flutter in an instant. Will set his status to away, deciding he had had enough of AIM for the evening.
And if he got up and shut the curtains a little tighter than usual, that wasn't anyone's business but his.
The rest of the weekend passed by in a blur. He stayed in his room mostly, since Lonnie had the weekend off and was lording over the living room like a tyrant king when he wasn't at the bar in the evenings.
He didn't get anymore messages from the unknown user.
Will waited all weekend for them to come back online, or at least be Away so he could interrogate them more, but they remained unreachable each time he checked his buddy list. It was a bit insane of him really, but the odd feeling never settled and he was weirdly desperate to know more about this person.
At school the following Monday, he resolved not to mention it to anyone, not even Mike. They would just freak out, and Will didn't need to worry them, which they chronically always did.
Unfortunately, a different incident had been passed around over the weekend instead. Max cornered him as soon as he sat down in their homeroom, arms crossed over her chest like a disappointed parent.
"Why didn't you tell me Andy pushed you on Friday?" She demanded, plopping down in the desk in front of him. He should have known this was coming. Lucas would spill everything to Max with just a quick bat of her eyelashes.
Will rolled his eyes. "It wasn't a big deal, Max."
"We have very different definitions of a 'big deal' it seems." Her chipped green polished nails drummed against the wood of the desk impatiently.
"Oh m—it's fine. God, you're worse than Mike sometimes. Do you have your chem notes with you? I'm worried about Mrs. Harris's test on Wednesday."
He loved Max, he really did. She was a close second to Mike in terms of best friends, and more outwardly open-minded and supportive when it came to Will exploring his queer identity.
But she had that same stubborn protective streak Mike did, which he appreciated although it drove him absolutely crazy sometimes. They were more alike than either of them would admit, both radiating a 'don't fuck with me' energy at all times.
Max wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust. "Do not compare me to Wheeler. And don't try to change the subject! I know they torment you but they've never, like, gotten physical with you before."
"It's whatever. Lucas and Mike showed up before it got too bad. I'm pretty sure they were gonna tag team ripping Andy's balls off." Will sighed. He really would've liked to see that.
"Yeah, I had to bail Lucas out of detention for starting a fight in the hall." Max huffed, flipping her fiery hair over her shoulder. "It's not whatever. You need to tell me if they try anything else, okay?"
Will was thankful for her, really, but he would rather die than have any of his friends fight his battles for him. It was just wasn't worth it.
"Yeah. I will," he lied easily. "Now can I please see your chem notes? I'm not gonna graduate if I don't pass this test."
The rest of the morning passed by uneventful, his friends treating him normally in the classes they shared together. He helped Dustin with his creative writing assignment, and passed notes with Lucas and Jane during Statistics as usual.
And as usual, he shared a cigarette with Mike in his car during lunch and caught up. Pretended to be interested as he recounted his weekend with Jane.
"—the mall was packed. I don't know why she insists on going there every fucking weekend." Mike sighed as he blew a cloud of smoke out the cracked window. "She knows I hate crowds. And all we did was walk in circles for four hours."
The complaining had become a usual thing, too, as of a few months ago. It seemed like every time they were together in the protection of Mike's Volvo he just unloaded all his unfiltered thoughts right into Will's lap—and he loved hearing Mike ramble, truly. But he had no interest in listening to the boy he was in love with bitch and moan about his girlfriend.
Will felt a bit sorry for him, honestly. Envy aside, he just wanted Mike to be happy, and the two of them did not fit together— both aesthetically and personality wise.
Jane was a self proclaimed mall-rat and was borderline obsessed with appearances. She was up on the latest trends and studied Cosmopolitan and Seventeen like it was course work. Will honestly couldn't remember a time where she wasn't coordinated and put together , and she often chided Mike on his grungy appearance. The girl also made it her personal mission to find and listen to every single boy band on the planet, much to Max and Mike's chagrin.
She was a social butterfly too, and had dragged them all a few times to house parties they weren't invited to (mainly Stacy's, much to Dustin's delight), saying it would only boost their social standing.
Mike, on the other hand, hated going out. He hated anything that had to do with anyone other than the Party, really— and proclaimed so often and loudly. He had virtually no filter, speaking his mind no matter the cost. It gotten him in trouble plenty of times before. People were often intimidated by him, with his permanent scowl, dark clothes, and eyebrow piercing Will had talked him into letting Max give him at his birthday last year (Mike's father grounded him for two months after).
He liked industrial music, classic literature, and spent a lot of free time min-maxing his party in Icewind Dale or finding weird RPG Maker games he combed forums for and secretly enjoyed writing poetry.
Jane liked none of those things.
"Maybe suggest Max go with her next time?" Will supplied, only halfway listening to his complaints. He was too busy watching Mike's silver piercing jump around with each annoyed expression he was making. He silently thanked Ted Wheeler for not making Mike take it out. Not that he would've listened, anyway.
Mike rolled his eyes. "Dude, I tried. You think Max would willingly do anything to help me out? She barely tolerates me as it is."
Will hummed sympathetically and swiped the cigarette out of his hands. "Yeah, she hates you. How dare she not help you get out of spending time with your girlfriend?"
"You're making me sound like an asshole, Will." He frowned dramatically and fell forward against the steering wheel like he had been wounded, but his tone betrayed his fondness.
"You are an asshole." Will smirked as he puffed on the cigarette, warming under Mike's dark stare. As much as he detested listening to Mike's relationship problems, he savored these moments with him. It was a private thrill—Mike choosing to spend his lunch with him getting buzzed on nicotine rather than with Jane. He always seemed freer, looser than he could be around Jane. The smoking was just an added bonus, the filter was always damp with Mike's spit and it made him feel just a bit insane.
Mike narrowed his eyes before breaking into a grin. "Ah, but I'm your asshole. You love it."
"Whatever you say." Will shrugged nonchalantly, leaning over and blowing smoke directly into his face. Mike scoffed playfully, his eyes glittering with mischief.
"Give me that back, you thief." Faster than Will could react, he lunged across the console and grappled with him before successfully pinning one of Will's hands.
"No—Mike, stop it!" Will shrieked, quickly passing the cig to his other hand and holding it up out of Mike's reach. "Stop stop, you're gonna get ash on my shirt you idiot!"
"That's payback for calling me an asshole." Mike laughed, crowding Will further against the car door. He was almost half way over the console and in Will's lap. He pinned his other arm easily, trapping both his wrists in one big palm. The heat from his hands felt like a brand.
"It's the truth!" Will laughed, only partially fighting against the hold. Mike was so close, he could smell the faint traces of the cheap Axe body spray he doused himself with every morning.
"Oh yeah?" Mike smirk deepened. The low, teasing tone made Will's stomach lurch, warmth treacherously curling in his spine as the other boys gaze consumed him.
"Yeah." In one last act of defiance, Will stuck his tongue out. He didn't notice the way Mike's eyes fought not to drop down to his lips.
A loud honk cut over the Chemlab CD playing over the stereo, startling them both.
Directly across from their parking spot, Chance and Andy had pulled up in an obnoxious red convertible. Evil glee lit up Andy's face as he squinted through Mike's windshield and took in the position they were in.
Andy let out of a wolf whistle and shouted something—probably a slur—that was drowned out by the crashing drums in the song.
Mike's smirk instantly twisted to a sharp grimace, face flaming red with anger or maybe embarrassment. He flipped them off with his free hand, still holding tight to Will's wrists in the other.
Chance stood up in his seat and made a vulgar thrusting motion with his hips, cackling with delight. He then blew a sloppy kiss directly at Will.
"Get the fuck out of here before I really rock your shit!" Mike shouted, honking the horn. He was flushed all the way down to the collar of his black hoodie, seething with rage.
The jocks just laughed and flipped Mike off in turn, backing up towards the school as Andy shouted one final slur that carried through the crack in the window.
Will's face dropped, all the warmth sucked out his body like a vacuum, his shoulders going rigid. "Let me go, Mike."
"Right—sorry." His voice dropped back into that softer register Will knew so well, and he retreated immediately back to the drivers seat like he had been burned. His dark eyes stared daggers at the pairs withdrawing forms, still laughing and slapping each other on the back like that was the funniest thing in the world. "Man, I fucking hate those guys. I swear to God, I'm gonna k—"
"It's fine." Will cut him off, pushing down the embarrassment eating up his gut. "Let's just go inside, okay?"
Mike stared at his hunched over form, their cigarette now abandoned in the stale soda can he had forgotten to throw away the other day. He ran a hand through his mess of black curls and sighed, relenting. "Yeah, okay."
Mike didn't say anything else about it as they parted ways for their next periods.
By some grace of an unknown God, Andy nor Chance bothered Will for the rest of the day. They didn't appear behind him during that dreaded passing period and his walk to chemistry was delightfully silent.
He didn't think about the weird messages from the other night either.
Truly, he had almost forgotten about the whole AIM incident entirely, too wrapped up in the phantom feeling of Mike's hand wrapped around his wrists. Will really must he the worst person on earth.
Halfway through chemistry class, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
With a quick glance up to ensure Mrs. Harris wasn't looking, he pulled out his phone. It must be a text from his mom checking in on him, or maybe Max bored out her mind in her math class and wanted to talk shit about whatever ridiculous thing Stacey had said that day.
It was indeed a text, but not from his mother or any of his friends for that matter.
It was from an unknown, unsaved number.
2:34pm
You really should wear that shirt more often.
With that single typed sentence, the air turned thick and sour. His hands felt clammy despite the balmy heat spilling from the schools vents.
There was no fucking way.
He whipped his head around the classroom, like somehow the sender was hiding behind the lab equipment cell phone in hand, but there was nothing. Just a bunch of bored teenagers in varying states of apathy for the current lesson on the whiteboard.
He quickly snapped his phone shut, stuffing it back into his pocket. No way was he responding to that.
It's not like he was wearing anything out of the ordinary. He glanced down at his outfit—a pale yellow polo he bought two years ago and light wash jeans with his hoodie tied around his waist. He didn't wear it often since he had grown a bit since then and it was a tad too tight, but he hadn't been able to do his laundry that weekend and it was the only clean shirt he could find.
Best to just ignore it. Don't engage.
His phone buzzed again.
2:39pm
Don't ignore me, Will. I gave you a compliment.
2:39pm
who is this????
2:40pm
Who do you think?
2:42pm
idk?? chance fcking w me??
Chemistry test prep completely forgotten, Will stared at his inbox, his pulse thudding rapidly. How had that person possibly have gotten his phone number? There simply was no way it wasn't the same person, the typing style was almost identical.
And how the fuck did they know what he was wearing?
2:47pm
Wear the shirt again sometime.
2:47pm
plz who is this??
2:50pm
You'll be good and listen, won't you?
2:50pm
wtf???
From the front of the class, Mrs. Harris pointedly cleared her throat. "Mr. Byers, are you with us?"
Wills cheeks flamed, both from the text and the snickering of his classmates. He quickly dropped his phone into his lap and squeaked out, "Yes ma'am. Sorry."
The unknown number did not respond again for the rest of the day.
There were no AIM messages waiting for him at home, either.
For three whole days, the unknown person did not contact him again. Something uncomfortable started to itch under Will's skin, his brain constantly analyzing both incidents in efforts to guess the identity.
But he just didn't have enough information, and he found himself desperately wishing they would say something, give up just a little bit more to satiate the morbid curiosity pawing for answers.
But they gave him nothing.
That was, until Thursday evening.
It had been a shit week up until then. He was entirely sure he had failed or just hardly passed his chem test the day before, Lonnie had 'accidentally' thrown his paints away again Tuesday night, Chester had chewed up one of his Converse, and he had been ditched by Mike at lunch earlier that day with vague excuse that he had something else to do that he couldn't get out of. He was probably just making out with Jane in his car or something.
Mike had been seemingly keeping him at arms length since the incident on Monday. He still texted Will everyday, met him at the bus stop by the school in the mornings. But something was just different. It stung more than anything.
He was trying his hardest not to dwell on it.
It was then how Will found himself chatting with Jane on the phone that night, idly browsing through community college options in New York at his moms behest.
And sure, he was endlessly jealous of Jane, but that didn't mean he couldn't be outwardly friendly to her—and the girl loved to gossip. Way more than Max did at least, and Jane's willingness to include him in their dishing sessions made him feel like he was one of the girls, in a way. Like they both trusted his opinion and felt comfortable sharing stuff they wouldn't around Lucas or Mike. Hell, they often included Dustin too, the boy was desperate for any information on Stacey he could get.
It was fun for him, though he didn't really participate in the shit talking. Just let any of the three of them speak their mind freely while he nodded along occasionally. It was an entertaining distraction, if anything.
Jane was just recounting the latest drama she overheard during her English class, chattering away into the his ear while Will's eyes kept flicking over to his buddy list every so often. He just couldn't help it.
The strange user still showed as Offline.
It was starting to really get on his nerves.
Maybe it really had just been Chance messing with him. He seemed like the type to do that anyway, more than happy to torment with Andy's malicious encouragement. It's not like he had either of them on AIM or had their numbers saved, so it very well might have been one of them.
Will sighed into the phone, wrestling with the odd lump sitting in his chest.
"—and I was like 'I can't believe she would say that about her'!" Jane was rambling. "Will? Will are you listening?"
"Yeah, sorry. Yes, I am. Go on." Will tore his eyes way from his inactive list and back to the browser page, attempting to refocus on what Jane was saying. Staring at it wouldn't do him any good.
"Okay, so—"
A chat window popped up over the Bronx Community College webpage he'd been dissociating at.
His stomach swooped violently.
User100110101110111: Hi Will.
User100110101110111: Did you miss me? I'm sorry I've been gone.
Maybe it's because Will was already pissed off, but the audacity of this person made his blood boil. A couple of AIM messages and texts and he's supposed to miss this weirdo? Will scoffed inwardly and balanced the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he angrily typed his response.
willthewize: how could i have missed you i don't even know who you are
willthewize: and you somehow got my phone # too?? are you some kind of stalker? wtf is wrong w you
User100110101110111: That's not very nice, you know.
willthewize: cmon i know this is chance just give it up and leave me alone
willthewize is typing…
willthewize: dont you torture me enough already @ school?? you just h8 me so much you had 2 invade my online space 2???
User100110101110111 is typing…
User100110101110111: I don't hate you, Will. Far from it.
willthewize is typing…
willthewize: how the hell do you expect me 2 trust anything you say??
willthewize: just leave me alone
User100110101110111: I'm afraid I can't do that.
User100110101110111: I'll prove it to you. I'll prove just how much I care about you, maybe then you'll believe me.
Will stared at the message, Jane's voice on the other line long past falling away into garbled nonsense. Sticky, uncomfortable heat started to bloom under his skin.
willthewize is typing…
willthewize: prove it 2 me how you still wont even tell me who you are!!!!
User100110101110111: Have you checked your mailbox tonight?
willthewize: what?????
User100110101110111: You should go outside and check it.
User100110101110111 is typing…
User100110101110111: Have a good night, Will. I'm always thinking about you.
User100110101110111: Always. <3
User100110101110111 is offline.
If Will's pulse could pound any faster he would have surely had a heart attack. His ears finally remembered how to work properly, Jane's voice returning like nails on a chalkboard.
"—and Stacey looked at me like I was crazy when I suggested—"
"Jane?" He interrupted, heart in his throat. "I gotta call you back."
"What? Will, wait I was just getting to the good part—"
Like a man possessed, he snapped his phone closed before she could finish and sprinted through the dark house, startling the hell out of Chester by the front door before bursting into the chilly night as he made for the dented mailbox at the curb. Probably a dangerous thing to do in hindsight, but all logic had flown out the window as soon as the first message popped up.
It could be a bomb or something, Will thought. What the hell is wrong with me?
With trembling fingers, Will slowly opened the latch. He braced himself for…well, for what, he had no idea. The aforementioned bomb? A feral animal primed to rip his face off? Or maybe just a big box of nothing and he was going to look like a giant idiot running out to his mailbox at 10:45 at night on a Thursday.
The latch dropped open all the way.
There was no bomb, but there was a box.
An ornate wooden one, twice the size of his palm with a delicate yellow ribbon tied haphazardly around it, a red envelope tucked beneath the lopsided bow.
His blood ran colder than the temperature outside.
They knew where he lived.
And based off the yellow ribbon, his favorite color too. The realization slammed into him with the force of a speeding car. He suddenly regretted hanging up on Jane.
What else did they know about him?
The lingering feeling of eyes watching him made his skin prickle with primal fear. As quickly as had ran to the curb, he hightailed it back to the safety of his house with the box tucked under an arm, flipping every single lock on the door behind him. Chester whined and barked, staying close to his heels as he checked the lock on the back door for good measure.
As soon as Will made it to his room, he threw the box onto his bed like it was diseased, it's contents rattling against the beautifully carved dark wood.
The curtains were quickly drawn, that phantom predatory gaze sticking to his body like glue.
Will sat in his desk chair, staring at the box with a pit in his stomach. Chester whined louder, his big body pointing towards the object on the comforter like it personally offended him.
He fiddled with his phone in his pocket, debating calling Mike or even Jane back just to chase the odd feeling away.
No—he couldn't do that. Will was a big boy, and he could handle this. Maybe whatever in the box was no big deal. Maybe whatever was in that envelope wouldn't freak him out more than he already was.
If he was being totally honest with himself, there was a fucked up piece of him absolutely dying to know whatever this mystery person—this stalker—could have possibly thought would be enough to prove their apparent care for him.
That piece of him won out over the logical part of his brain, and he ultimately settled himself on his bed and pulled the gift into his lap.
The box really was beautiful, a rich dark mahogany with the lid etched with gorgeous impressions of flowers and leaves. He gingerly untied the ribbon and set it and the envelope aside. He was going to have to work up to that one.
His breath stuttered as his flipped open the lid.
It was not a box of nothingness, far from it. Inside was an array of watercolor paint tubes. Windsor & Newton. Expensive beyond expensive. They were a bit jostled and out of place from when he had thrown it, but there had to have been at least fifteen tubes stuffed inside. Will couldn't even imagine how much this person spent buying these.
He was struck with how strangely personal of a gift this was.
Jesus Christ. How much did this person know about him?
Although, perhaps anyone could have known if they had paid any amount of attention to him before. It was no secret how much Will loved art, he was drawing practically every free moment in class. His art teachers always hung up his pieces in the hall, showed them off at every art show possible.
But to spend that much on a set of paints for him? There wasn't even a store in Hawkins that sold Windsor & Newton, not even in the mall. How far out of town had they gone to get these for him?
It was…oddly endearing.
He gently set them aside and turned his attention to the envelope.
His full name, middle initial and all, was typed up on a strip of printer paper and pasted to the front. No handwriting to identify them with.
The letter inside was another piece of crisp white printer paper. There was the faint scent of something warm and masculine on the sheet, like they had sprayed a rich cologne on it before sealing it inside. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before.
It stupidly made his toes curl. Just a little bit.
The letter itself only had one sentence.
There, in the center of the paper in twelve point Times New Roman:
I love you.
Across the room, his computer he had left on in the crazed dash outside chimed out into the quiet like a gunshot.
"You've got mail!"
His head snapped to the screen, apprehension and something else he couldn't name roiling through his veins.
Will hardly got emails. Only ever spam from mailing lists he didn't remember signing up for or occasional photo dumps from Jonathan's photography courses.
Shaking like a leaf, Will approached the glaring screen.
There was an email with an attachment in his inbox waiting for him.
From: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
Attachment: myboy.jpeg
Do you believe me now?
Against all better instinct and judgment, Will clicked on the attachment.
It took him a moment to figure out what the hell he was looking at, the pixelated photo clearly shot from a cell phone camera in low lighting.
But then Will could make out the overgrown bushes below his bedroom window.
And then his slightly smudged glass of his bedroom window.
And then him. Sitting on his bed some two hours earlier, cell phone pressed to his ear as he stretched out on his bed like a cat in a sunbeam—completely oblivious.
Utterly and completely oblivious to the danger lurking just outside behind the oak tree outside his home. Leaving gifts for him. Taking pictures of him.
Watching him, observing him, apparently pining for him.
And the worst part of it all? The completely idiotic and most deranged aspect of the whole situation?
Will kind of, sort of, maybe… liked it.