Chapter Text
The Upside Down and all its devastating effects press down on Hawkins like a bruise that refuses to fade.
Summer has come and gone, almost non-existent, and would have easily slipped by unnoticed to anyone who didn’t own a calendar. It’s perpetually cold regardless of the season, the sun hardly ever rises, spores fall on shoulders like dandruff, and a dull, thrumming gloom has settled over the small town like a shroud.
Gone were the whispers about chemical leaks or satanic conspiracies or natural calamities. Town hall meetings were no longer angry and confused, they were tense and rehearsed. The name Henry Creel had been spoken aloud by stoic men in uniform. The Upside Down had been shown in grainy, classified slides projected against the walls of the Hawkins Community Center.
And somehow, despite everything, Hawkins High School re-opens its doors at 8:00 AM on September 1st, 1987.
That might be the most absurd part.
First period Chemistry. Second period English. Third period Tactical Preparedness, where soldiers demonstrate how to use emergency radios, teach morse code, and explain what to do if 'seismic tears' appear near your home.
The chalkboards still list homework assignments. The vending machines still jam. A jock still carves expletives on the side of his desk. A girl still scribbles out the lyrics of ‘Into the Groove’ by Madonna instead of taking notes.
The world still turns and life goes on, somehow.
Henry Creel isn’t a far-fetched rumor anymore. He’s a confirmed threat, has been for a long time.
And Will Byers feels him like static under his skin.
It's a silent murmur at the base of his skull, a pulse that syncs with thunderclouds and power outages and the low rumble of military engines rolling past the Wheeler house at two in the morning.
He stands in the hallway on the the first day of September, gripping the strap of his backpack tighter than necessary, face to face with his locker. The overhead fluorescent lights flicker once.
His stomach drops. He breathes through it. In for four. Out for four. Just like Robin had taught him one evening at the Squawk.
He doesn’t tell his mom. He doesn’t tell Jonathan. If he starts narrating every tremor inside his body, they’ll look at him like he’s a bomb with a loose wire. They already look at him like he’s fragile; too weak, too skittish.
And the last thing he wants is to be a burden, to be seen as a liability, a teenager with trauma he can’t even begin to unpack.
Will has always been the master of slinking away into the shadows, after all. Always been too good at downplaying how he feels for the benefit of someone else.
He’s one of the last ones left in the hallway now, carefully pulling out the books he needs. A note falls to his feet, and Will picks it up with trembling fingers, head darting from side to side to make sure no one is close enough.
3:45 PM
Wait for my car by the treeline near the parking lot
Don’t bring your jacket this time
- C
Will bites the inside of his cheek, face turning pink and butterflies erupting in his stomach. It’s a much needed, welcome distraction, even if it doesn’t fully chase away the unease and anxiety that constantly eat away at him. He makes a mental note to stash away his jacket in his locker at the end of last period, then closes his locker and walks to class, already brainstorming excuses he’ll need to feed Mike to keep him off his trail.
~~~
It had started ealier that year, way before summer break, during a practice session of the Hawkins High basketball team.
Will had gone, on his own, to support Lucas for the first time since the Byers’ return to Hawkins. To make up for the time spent away in Lenora. To prove that he hadn’t disappeared from his friends’ lives just because he’d physically left for a while.
During lunch that day, when prompted by Lucas, Dustin had said he couldn’t come because he had physics homework, a terse, faraway look on his face. Mike had said he couldn’t come because Karen needed help at home. Mike had the decency to look a little sheepish, unlike Dustin who wore his grief for Eddie Munson like a badge of honor.
Will knew both to be poor excuses, but he didn’t comment, instead just smiled at Lucas and promised he would be there.
The gym was loud in a normal way. Sneakers squeaking. A whistle cutting through the air. The smell of sweat and wood polish and cheap, musky cologne.
Normal is intoxicating, Will realized thoughtfully.
Lucas moved across the court with a confidence that made something swell in Will’s chest; pride tangled with guilt. He’d never seen this version of Lucas before. He realized, forlornly, that he had missed out on watching him become someone braver, steadier, stronger, despite the heavy weight of guilt and agony he knew Lucas harbored while Max lay unconscious at Hawkins Memorial Hospital.
Will was so focused on Lucas that he didn’t notice it at first.
Someone on the court was staring at him. He couldn’t make out who specifically, not through his peripheral vision, not through the constant movement of sweaty bodies, jerseys blurring together and strands of hair flying.
When Will finally peeled his eyes away from Lucas, player number 22 was still watching him. He wasn't smirking, or scowling, or even rolling his eyes. His expression was aloof, calm and controlled. His obsidian eyes were intense, sending a wave of goosebumps at the nape of Will’s neck. His black hair effortlessly framed his angular face, a single strand curling over his forehead, and his tanned skin glowed like burnished gold, glossy with sweat. He was all broad shoulders, lean muscle and in-built confidence. He had a strong, intimidating aura that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. Will knew that they shared a couple of classes, knew of each other's existence, but had never crossed paths or really noticed each other.
Until now.
Will met his gaze, long lashes fanning rapidly against his rosy cheeks.
Chance Lawson didn’t look away.
Will did, like the coward he was, gaze flitting back to his open sketchbook. His stomach flipped in a dangerous way that felt less like fear and more like something he didn’t want to name.
He was used to being background noise. Used to people overlooking him unless he was in trouble, unless he was possessed by something monstrous, unless his senses tingled like he was a goddamn GPS for the hive mind. For Henry fucking Creel.
He was used to being worried over. Not observed. At least, never like this, if he was reading Chance’s expression correctly.
Will had no idea what to make of it.
During a short water break, Chance jogged toward the bleachers.
Will felt it before it happened, that rising awareness that someone was approaching him specifically. He looked up from his sketchbook, swallowing heavily as his pulse rang in his ears, forcing himself to stay put and not run out the gym like he'd been electrocuted.
“You here for Sinclair?” Chance asked, voice deep yet mellow.
Will nodded. “Y-yeah,” he stuttered, hoping his voice didn’t crack.
Chance leaned against the metal railing, close but not crowding, tanned arms flexing slightly in a way that seemed natural and not for show.
“He’s good, better than good, actually,” he said plainly, maintaining eye contact even as he panted slightly. “Never thought I’d see the day that one of his nerd friends actually showed up for him, though. Henderson and Wheeler wouldn't be caught dead here.”
Will tightened his grip on his sketchbook, willing his heartbeat to slow. “They’re just busy. And either way, it's none of your business.”
Chance raised one thick, perfect eyebrow at that. Will resisted the irrational urge to touch it with his fingertips.
“Sure. Busy. They’ve been too busy for Sinclair for over a year now. Some friends they are,” Chance drawled, lips curling into an irritatingly charming smirk.
“Well, I don’t see any of your friends around, either,” Will huffed, flustered and slightly annoyed.
“That’s ‘cause they’re all on the court with me. And the rest have cheer practice in 2 hours.”
Will just nodded dismissively and turned back to his sketchbook.
“You draw?” Chance asked, nodding toward the book.
Will braced for impact out of habit. “Sometimes," he said shortly, keeping his eyes on his sketch.
“My little sister likes dragons,” Chance said easily, smoothly. “She’s been kind of freaked out since… you know.”
The government briefings. The cracks in the earth. The unspoken promise of the beginning of the end.
Will swallowed at that, looking up. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”
Chance hesitated for a beat.
“Could you draw her one? Something less scary and not as realistic as whatever you got going on there. No offense,” he said, tongue poking the inside of his cheek, dark eyes gleaming with barely concealed mirth.
Will blinked at him. He wasn’t being mocked. He wasn’t being tested. He was being asked. Like it was the most normal, mundane thing in the world.
“Sure,” Will replied, ignoring the subtle jab at his current sketch. It was odd, how easily he gave in, how his nervous system didn’t feel threatened.
Chance’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, lips melting into a warm smile that had Will feeling weak in the knees.
“Cool. Later, Byers.”
He jogged back to the court before Will could respond, but he looked up again before the whistle blew.
The sketchbook lay forgotten in Will’s lap. He bit his bottom lip, watching as Chance sucked in a slow, heavy breath, eyes tracking the movement of Will’s teeth. The moment shattered half a second later, and Chance sprung into action as if nothing had happened.
Will didn’t spare another glance in Lucas’ direction for the rest of the practice session.
~~~
After that, Chance started noticing him everywhere.
In the hallway, when Will flinched at the sound of a locker being slammed too hard.
In English class, when Will’s pencil stilled mid-sentence.
In the cafeteria, when the four boys at the nerds’ table fell into one of those tense silences that lingered, even though the bullying had long since stopped, like they were personally victimized by the Upside Down in a way the other students weren't.
The jocks had quieted down once the satanic panic was publicly dismantled and Eddie's name was consequently cleared. Turns out, it was hard to call someone a devil worshipper when the actual devil-adjacent entity had been confirmed by federal agents.
The shoving had stopped. The muttering had stopped. The hostility had dissolved into something uncertain. An unspoken, begrudging truce of sorts.
But what unsettled Will more than the absence of cruelty was the presence of a new kind of attention.
Chance would look at him across rooms. Not constantly or blatantly. Just enough that Will felt like he was being carefully unraveled by those dark, stormy eyes from a considerable distance.
And Will didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know how to exist under a gaze that wasn’t suspicious, or protective, or pitying. Mike’s was loud and demanding. Jonathan’s was careful and subtle. Joyce’s was fierce and terrified.
But Chance’s was different. Will knew it was different, instinctively, ever since they locked eyes for the first time during that basketball practice session.
Because for the first time in his life, someone his age, someone solid and visible and so achingly attractive that Will could hardly believe he was real, was looking at him like he mattered, like he wanted to devour him whole in a way that had nothing to do with the horrors of the Upside Down.
That difference made Will’s pulse spike in ways the hive mind never did.
So, it shouldn't have surprised Will as much as it did when Chance Lawson stole his very first kiss.
It happened 2 weeks after their initial conversation by the bleachers. Will had been loitering outside the boys’ locker room, standing just out of sight and watching quietly as the jocks made loud, raucous exits, duffel bags slung over shoulders and balls spinning expertly on fingers. The promised dragon sketch was neatly folded in Will’s hands, complete with his signature at the bottom.
Will watched as Lucas walked out, sandwiched between Andy and Josh, laughing at something Josh was saying. Will pressed closer into the wall, hit with a sudden pang of shame. It was ridiculous, it wasn’t like he was actively going behind Lucas’ back. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Lucas had branched out, and Will was simply doing Chance a favor. Lucas, out of everyone, would understand. Yet something in him kept him rooted to the spot.
As the three boys turned the corner and disappeared out of view, Will felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped, whirling around with a yelp.
“Didn’t take you for a creepy stalker, Byers. Guess it’s true what they say. The quiet ones are the freakiest, or something like that,” Chance said with an amused look on his face, giving him a two-finger salute in greeting, standing far too close for comfort.
“What? I- I’m not a creep and I wasn’t stalking!” Will stammered indignantly, jade eyes wide like saucers. He cleared his throat roughly. “I was just waiting for you. To give you this,” he muttered, shoving the sketch into Chance’s chest, grateful that the jock had showered and put on a clean set clothes after practice.
Chance looked a bit surprised at that, then glanced down at the sketch, unfolding it with gentle fingers. His hands were large, rough and calloused, like they could tear through anything without much thought. But they handled the drawing with a softness that had Will’s heart beating double time.
“Holy shit. Byers, you made this?” Chance whispered earnestly, dark eyes sparkling as they darted between the sketch and Will’s face. Will merely nodded, not knowing what to say. “It’s beautiful. And adorable. Totally not scary at all. My sister is gonna love this.”
Will let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, and it came out as a soft sigh.
“Really?” he whispered, his eyebrows quivering.
“Yeah, really,” Chance laughed quietly, shaking his head fondly. “It’s perfect.”
Will smiled and nodded again, watching as Chance unzipped his bag and carefully laid the sketch in between pages of a textbook to make sure it didn’t crease.
“What’s her name? You sister’s, I mean,” Will asked when Chance had zipped his bag shut and slung it over his shoulder.
Neither of them had taken a step back yet, standing close despite the wide berth the empty hallway offered. Will had always assumed Chance was way taller, his impressive physique certainly made it seem so. But up close and standing on even ground, Will found out that he was only two or three inches taller.
“Jane. Jane Lawson. She’s turning 10 this year.”
Will’s heart almost stopped at that. He blinked once, then twice, wondering if he misheard.
“My sister’s name is Jane, too,” he found himself saying. He knew he shouldn’t be telling this to Chance, knew that it was dangerous, that no one could know that Jane was hidden away at Hopper’s cabin and out of the government’s reach. But he found himself trusting Chance anyways, even if it was a foolish decision.
“Yeah? That’s cool. Is she as loud and annoying as my Jane?” Chance asked, eyes quickly darting down to Will’s lips and then back up. Will pretended like he didn't notice it.
“Hmm. Can’t really tell since I don’t know your Jane. Mine isn’t loud, but she’s always been curious, always energetic. And way, way stronger than me,” Will replied with an awkward laugh.
“That checks out. You’re not on the basketball team for a reason,” Chance teased.
“Hey!” Will gasped, feeling his face go red, hands flying up to lightly shove Chance by the chest.
Chance didn’t even stumble, his body steady and solid, but his expression shifted. He caught Will’s wrists with ease and pinned them to the wall on either side of his head.
“Prove me wrong, Byers. Fight back. Or are those pretty hands only good at making pretty drawings?” Chance asked, words sharp and stinging around the edges.
Will’s heart stuttered in his chest, his wrists shaking against the wall. Chance’s grip was tight and vice-like. His smile was gone, face an unreadable mask, dark eyes stormier than ever before. Will felt something hot curling in his stomach, but to his chagrin, it wasn’t fright. He wanted to ask Chance what the hell he was doing, if he was just messing around with him, if he had read Chance completely wrong this whole time, but the words died on his tongue.
He breathed heavily, green eyes turning hard as they locked on to black ones, and jerked his hands. He tried again and again, but Chance just kept holding them down like it took no effort at all.
“You asshole…” Will cursed through gritted teeth, his wrists starting to ache. Chance gave him a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, stepping even closer than Will thought physically possible.
“There he is. I was right when I said it’s the quiet ones who’re the freakiest. Look at you, not backing down. Most people would be on their knees, begging me to let them go right about now,” Chance whispered.
“I’m sure that’s not all they were begging for, if they were in that position,” Will spat out without thinking, voice rough and gravelly, his fluffy brown bangs flying with each jerk of his body as he fought against Chance’s hold.
Chance blinked, caught off guard and clearly not expecting such a filthy implication from Will. His grip loosened in surprise, and Will immediately took advantage of it, freeing his wrists and shoving Chance away by his chest, feeling morbidly satisfied when Chance actually stumbled back this time.
Will waited for his reaction with bated breath, shaking his bangs out of his eyes and refusing to look away. Chance just stared back, looking at Will like he'd grown 10 heads.
“Fuck me,” Chance muttered, slack-jawed. He stepped back into Will’s space, hand reaching up to cup Will’s jaw roughly. His thumb ghosted over Will's bottom lip before carefully pressing down, dark eyes locked on the pink flesh that gave way and turned red under his touch.
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Byers?” Chance said softly.
Will looked up at him through his lashes, green eyes dilating, adrenaline and power surging through him. It was heady and intoxicating like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Will whispered. The movement caused Chance’s thumb to catch between his lips, grazing against the tip of Will’s tongue. “You know what they call me, right?”
“Zombie Boy,” Chance murmured, unable to look away from Will’s mouth. Will was used to hearing the moniker spat in his direction like a slur, all ugly and wrong and twisted. But at that moment, spoken with a reverence that left him reeling, it only made him feel stronger. Wanted. Desired. For the first time in his 16 years on earth.
“Yeah. That’s me. You weren’t in Hawkins back then, were you? I was in the Upside Down for a week, kidnapped by Henry Creel. The government somehow pulled a dead body out from the Sattler Quarry, two days after I vanished. But that body was never mine. When I was finally found in the Upside Down, I was barely conscious, barely breathing, on the verge of death. My mom and Chief Jim Hopper had to restart my heart. I was only 12 years old, and I came back to life, just not in the way most people think,” Will said evenly, eyes slightly manic.
Chance didn't take his eyes off of Will, and it didn't look like he was even breathing from how still he was. His eyelids twitched and flickered ever so slightly, a storm raging in those dark pupils, and his mouth was drawn in a hard line.
“I am a freak. I’m not normal, not in the slightest,” Will continued, his hand reaching up to slap Chance's wrist away from his mouth. “Look, I don’t know what you think you're playing at. But in case you missed the memo, the world is going to shit. I have way too many problems as it is. The last thing I need is a jock breathing down my neck and using me as a punching bag when I could be making better use of my time.”
Chance stayed silent for a couple of seconds. Then, a slow, shit-eating grin split his face. He braced his hands on the wall, caging Will in before swooping down to press their lips together.
Will jolted, hands wrapping around Chance’s broad shoulders automatically to keep from falling over. Chance’s hands dropped from the wall and moved to snake around Will’s waist, yanking him closer until their bodies were flush together. Will’s lips trembled, dancing to Chance’s tunes helplessly. He had zero experience, not a single fucking clue of how to kiss someone, so he simply closed his eyes and held on for dear life. Chance pried his lips open carefully, clearly more than happy to take the lead, and his tongue slipped inside. Will whined, knees buckling slightly, mind going hazy from how Chance's tongue was breaching the cavern of his mouth like he fucking owned it.
Instinct slowly kicked in, and he started copying Chance’s movements. He experimentally worried Chance's bottom lip between his teeth and pulled lightly. A low growl tore from the back of Chance’s throat before he slammed Will back against the wall, their kisses turning more hungry and frenzied. Will didn’t feel the pain, his pulse roaring in his ears, his blood burning underneath his skin.
When Chance finally pulled away, they both had matching disoriented looks on their faces, eyelids hooded and cheeks flushed. A string of saliva connected their lips, and Chance leaned in, swiping his tongue across Will’s lip to break it, then licked his own lip before swallowing.
“Gross,” Will said out loud, then clamped his mouth shut, looking alarmed. The thick tension between them broke, and Chance barked out a laugh, a real, genuine one.
Despite it all, Will found himself laughing, too. He’d never seen Chance smiling so wide, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“What’s so funny?” he asked after they quieted, trying to regulate his breathing.
“You. You’re… you’re not at all what I thought you were, Will Byers,” Chance said, a bit breathless, cupping Will’s cheek more gently this time.
“I’m sorry. I pushed too far and I was being a dick. I just couldn’t help myself. I… I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. But you always look so vulnerable, so scared, and old habits die hard, I guess. I’m not a good guy, and definitely not a gentle one,” he whispered, face turning serious. "I wanted to test you, to see how you'd react."
“Test me?” Will asked, looking confused.
“Yeah. Like, not to bully you or anything. All the Hellfire bullshit is a thing of the past, we don’t hold any grudges against you guys, even though D&D still sounds really fucking lame. But something came over me and I wanted to see if you’re really as helpless as you seem. I’ve seen you out in the hallways. Sinclair, Henderson and Wheeler walk around you like fucking bodyguards, always on edge even though there’s no real threat around. Like you could break at any given moment. I guess I wanted to see the real you, the one that’s not always doe-eyed and seconds away from fleeing the room. I'll admit, I didn't know what to expect. I don't even know you, but curiosity got the better of me and I acted impulsively.”
“So... you pinned my wrists to the wall. As a test. I'm guessing I passed?” Will deadpanned, tilting his face up slightly, cheek warming under Chance’s rough palm.
“With flying colors,” Chance breathed. “I get that they’re your friends, and they’ve probably seen you at your worst, but they don’t know how strong you really are, do they? They know you've experienced horrors, but do they know how much it takes to keep moving through life without letting those horrors break you?”
Will’s eyelids drooped slightly. “I... I guess they don't,” he whispered, surprised at how easily it slipped out. He wanted to defend his friends, he really did, but he couldn’t deny the truth in Chance’s words.
“They don’t see you, Byers,” Chance murmured, the words spoken with such confidence that Will almost laughed at the sheer audacity.
“And you do? This is the second time we’ve ever spoken,” Will scoffed, voice slightly brittle.
“Well, let's just say that it takes one abnormal freak to see another one. And I see you clear as fucking day,” Chance whispered with that devastating smirk of his. Before Will could come up with another retort, Chance was kissing him all over again.
Will had built himself around invisibility. Around softness. Around making himself smaller so that the world wouldn’t hurt him.
Now, someone was paying attention to the parts of him that weren’t just survival instincts. It felt like standing in direct sunlight after spending years underground.
Exposing. Warm. Terrifying. And so utterly fucking addictive.
~~~
Will waits at the treeline near the school’s parking lot. He checks his watch, which reads 3:40 PM. He lets out a quiet exhale, holding the straps of his backpack and shivering in the cold. He made it 5 minutes ahead of time, successfully managing to get Mike off his back. He’d told him he’d be spending time in the art room after school, and Mike easily bought the lie, but not before insisting Will radio him in case he needed to be picked up. Will had rolled his eyes and assured him that he had his walkie in his bag.
Which was also a lie. His walkie is currently catching dust in the Wheeler’s basement where he sleeps with Jonathan, but Mike doesn’t need to know that.
Friends don’t lie. Mike had hammered that motto into the Party’s heads at every chance he got, ever since they were kids. But that was before everything went downhill. That was before they were forced to grow up, before Henry Creel stole Will’s childhood, before Mike morphed into someone unrecognizable, before they all got girlfriends and looked down upon the game that had brought them all together, only for them to join Hellfire Club the second Will set foot in Lenora.
Will tells himself he’s not bitter. He swears he isn’t.
Well, maybe just a little bit.
He’s shaking off the spores from his fluffy hair, the cold air biting into his exposed arms, when a familiar teal-colored Camaro pulls up in front of him. Will sighs in relief, yanking open the door to the backseat and throwing his bag inside first before getting in and slamming the door shut behind him.
“It’s 3:47. You’re 2 minutes late, Lawson,” Will huffs as the car starts moving. He’s already pulling his t-shirt up and over his head.
Chance laughs, holding out his letterman jacket above the center console and looking at Will through the rear-view mirror. Will reaches out to grab it, dusting more spores from his hair before slipping his hands through the warm, worn sleeves, shooting Chance a glare through the mirror. The jacket smells like sweat, Irish Spring and the faintest trace of a sharp, citrus-scented cologne.
“Tsk. Here I thought you liked being obedient. I mean, you didn’t bring your jacket, just like I asked. But accusing me of being late? You wound me, Byers.”
“The last time I got held up in class after school, you gave me 10 hickeys on my neck as if it was my fault for showing up late. You had to lend me a scarf, and then I had to steal Karen Wheeler’s concealer in the middle of the night,” Will replies lazily, bringing his wrist to his nose and inhaling deeply. He slumps back in the seat, eyes closing in contentment. The letterman is slightly oversized on him, loose around his shoulders and sleeves too long. “You’re being a hypocrite.”
Chance doesn’t respond immediately, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek, attention focused on steering the car deeper into the woods, far enough from Hawkins High but not close enough for patrolling soldiers to walk anywhere near them. He puts the car in park under a particularly thick birch tree, then kills the engine before squeezing himself between the front seats to join Will in the back.
The glass of the car's windows are slightly tinted, but dark window shades have been installed over them anyways. Chance had asked his dad to buy them, claiming that they were for when the sunlight got too bright.
Chance’s dad had looked at his son as if he had gone mad, reminding him of the current apocalyptic state Hawkins was in and the very glaring lack of summer. Chance had merely shrugged his shoulders, stating that it would be good to stock up for future use, and his father just sighed heavily. He ended up buying them anyway, begrudgingly.
“I’m a hypocrite, huh?” Chance asks as he settles down into the free seat with a soft groan, hands already moving to slide under the letterman and grab Will by his bare waist, pulling him closer until he’s straddling his lap. Chance spreads his thighs wider, adjusting Will on top of him more securely, leaning back against the leather seat.
Will's tongue peeks out between slightly parted lips, hands curling around Chance’s neck, back curving as he rolls his body and rubs their crotches together.
“I asked… Am I a hypocrite? Answer the question, Byers,” Chance says with a raised brow, voice deepening with a slight edge, palms squeezing Will’s waist. He rolls his own hips up, meeting Will’s movements.
“Yes- oh, fuck. Yes, you fucking are,” Will whines, refusing to give in despite how turned on he already is. “You made me wait in the cold without a jacket, just because you wanted to see me wearing yours. The least you could do is make it on time.”
“I see. I’m sorry, baby,” Chance murmurs, voice going achingly soft, hands slipping out of the letterman to pull Will down by his shoulders, leaning up to slot their lips together. Will gasps, his hips stuttering. “Let me make it up to you, yeah? Want me to warm you up real good?”
Will practically mewls into his mouth and nods rapidly, the sound sending a bolt of heat straight to Chance’s cock.
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans back even further into the seat, pulling Will closer to make sure his head doesn’t bump against the roof of the car. He reaches down, making quick work of Will’s trousers, popping the button open. He keeps his eyes on Will, who is grinding against his thigh, dark eyes watching the way the letterman swallows him whole. His name is right there against Will's chest, white letters on green cloth, stark and unmissable, branding Will as his property. His eyes harden, flitting to Will's upper arm, the number printed on the sleeve.
“Why the number 22? Did you choose it?” Will had asked him one day during free period, cramped together in a bathroom stall for yet another make-out session. It had been 2 months since Will had given Chance the dragon sketch.
Will's fingers were sliding up Chance's arm and tracing the lines of the numbers printed on the sleeve of his letterman jacket.
“Mmm, I did. It's been my lucky number for ages. Not associated with any big dates, like most would think.”
The stall had been too small for Chance’s broad shoulders, his knees knocking against the metal door, but Will fit there perfectly, tucked between him and the tiled wall like something hidden and precious.
Chance dipped his head, brushing his nose against Will’s temple before tilting his chin up, forcing a slight strain in Will's neck. His lips ghosted over the corner of Will's mouth, and with a heavy sigh, he leaned closer, lips finally on Will's. They opened their mouths at the same time almost instantly, heads tilting, tongues curling, hot and wet and a little dirty.
“My birthday’s on March 22nd,” Will said breathlessly a few minutes later. Chance stilled from where he had been pressing open-mouthed kisses into his neck.
He pulled away, their eyes meeting in the quiet space.
“March 22nd,” he repeated slowly.
Will shrugged one shoulder, suddenly shy. “Yeah. I mean. It’s not- it’s not important or anything. I just think the coincidence is funny.”
“Funny,” Chance repeated again, but it sounded a bit harder this time. His hand, which had been resting at Will’s waist, tightened slightly. “You never told me that.”
“You never asked?" Will responded, looking confused. It was a statement, but it came out more as a question.
Chance didn't know how to reply to that, if he was even supposed to reply at all. He wasn't sure what sort of expression was on his face at that moment.
Will gulped as the silence stretched, not daring to think about the implications; that this purely casual arrangement was quickly starting to morph into something that was the literal opposite of casual.
Thinking about it was dangerous, it felt like an invisible he was not supposed to cross. So, he decided to put Chance, and himself, out of their misery, sliding down to his knees on the dirty bathroom floor and reaching for the waistband of Chance’s trousers.
Will lifts his hips up when he realizes what Chance is doing, allowing him to slide his pants and underwear off in one smooth motion, leaving Will naked save for his socks, sneakers and Chance’s letterman.
“Fuck, yes. This is what I’ve been dying to see all day. You in nothing but my letterman, looking like a million fucking bucks,” Chance says lowly, pupils dilating and mouth practically watering at vision sitting on top of him while Chance himself is still fully clothed.
Will bites his lip and he looks down at him, skin warming rapidly. His cheeks, knuckles, chest and ears are tinged a warm, blushy pink despite the chilly weather outside the car. The mole above his upper lip glistens in the darkened space, his bangs falling messily into heavily-lidded jade eyes. He shrugs the letterman off his shoulders, exposing the pale expanse littered with moles, letting the material bunch up at his lower back while still wearing the sleeves. Will’s hands brace against Chance’s stomach for balance, and he lifts one to stroke his cock. His fingers catch against the sparkling pink head, thick and pulsating, curved up elegantly. His eyes never leave Chance’s, lips falling open as he moans, eyelashes fluttering wildly. The vein below his belly button flexes, his stomach flat and smooth. The scar on his hip is jagged, raised and bumpy, a scar Will used to associate with pain, with loss of autonomy, with unsolicited possession. But that was before Chance had traced it with his tongue the very first time they made love.
Chance doesn’t think he’s seen anyone more sinful in his life.
“Putting on a show for me, baby? Or are you just having fun without me?” he asks, reaching up to brush Will’s bangs out of his eyes and trace the shell of his ear, trailing down to thumb at one hardened nipple.
“Can’t I do both at the same time?” Will replies softly, arching his back carefully, head tipping back as he rolls his hips to fuck into his hand, exposing the slender column of his throat.
“You’re a bad boy, aren’t you? Touching yourself like this while I’m right here. Is this what you do when you lock yourself in the Wheelers' bathroom late at night? House packed like a circus but all you can think about is my hands all over you?” Chance murmurs, slapping Will’s hand away to take over, immediately stroking faster and with more purpose. Will cries out, not even trying to deny it, hands scrambling to pull down Chance’s fly.
Chance lets him, watching with lazy amusement as Will struggles. Will finally gets his large, throbbing cock out, and doesn’t bother shoving Chance’s pants out of the way, far too eager and needy. It’s not as pink as Will’s, and definitely not as pretty, but it’s bigger than average and far thicker in size, Will’s fingers barely able to wrap around the girth.
“Please, I need to, I need-”
“Need to what, baby? Use your words.”
“I… I need to taste you... so bad,” Will whispers, eyes wide and pleading.
Chance curses under his breath, always weak for Will when he acts this way. He reluctantly lets go of Will’s cock, watching as Will lowers himself to lie down with his stomach pressing into the seat. Chance shifts sideways, back turning to dig uncomfortably into the car door.
All thoughts of discomfort vanish, however, when Will looks up at him with those depraved jade eyes, grabs the base of his cock and guides the fleshy tip into his unholy mouth.
Chance grips the top of Will’s hair, groaning lowly as Will starts to move, bobbing his head up and down slowly, like he’s savoring each and every salty drop that explodes on his tongue. His plush lips tighten, his cheeks hollowing out, tongue working along the underside of the shaft, eyes open and trained on Chance. Chance tightens his grip, and its taking everything in him to not just thrust up and fuck Will’s mouth like he wants to.
“Will, baby, fuck… You’re being so fucking good for me,” he groans, eyes darkening when he looks past Will’s face to see his perfectly round and plump ass peaking up in the air. “You’re so… you’re so… fuck… Will…”
Will moans deeply around the shaft, straight from his core, sending vibrations down Chance’s spine. He moves faster, letting saliva collect in his mouth and using it to ease the glide, to make it smoother and sloppier. He squeaks when Chance yanks at his hair but doesn’t stop, eyes watering when he goes down even further and the tip breaches the back of his throat.
Chance practically growls, squeezing his eyes shut as his mind whites out. Will gags once, then twice, willing his throat to relax. Carefully, he starts to move again, sinking all the way down until his lips touch the golden skin of Chance’s pelvis.
Chance’s eyes fly open, watching as Will breathes hard through his nose, still stubbornly refusing to look away from him. He’s lying there on his stomach, not moving, tears of strain falling freely down his pink cheeks. Chance’s brows furrow, concern making him loosen his grip on Will’s hair.
“Hey, Will, are you okay? You don’t have to-”
Chance can’t finish his sentence, because Will bites. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but Chance is so shocked and thrown off guard that his brain doesn't register the ache fully. Will smirks through his tears, eyes sparkling, before he eases back up carefully, the tip slipping out of his mouth with a wet pop.
“You…” Chance rasps, watching as Will’s thumb reaches up to swipe at the corner of his own mouth, while his other hand carefully massages at the base of Chance’s cock where his teeth had just sunk in savagely, as if in silent apology. “You fucking minx. I’ve unleashed a goddamn monster.”
Will just smiles, all faux sweetness and batting eyelashes against wet, glistening cheekbones, a giggle bubbling up his throat, his lips red and swollen. His green eyes gleam with mischief, enthralling and spellbinding.
And Chance fucking swoons because he’s never seen anyone look this wrecked yet still so pretty. It's unfair.
“Sorry,” Will laughs, not looking sorry at all, the sound like the fluttering of butterfly wings, his hand still on Chance’s cock. “I got you good, didn’t I? Bet you thought I was going to burst into sobs.”
“Fuck, Will, I genuinely thought I hurt you-”
“How could that be possible when I’m the one who took you deeper, and you weren’t even moving?”
“That’s not the point, you were the one in a vulnerable position and you can’t speak if something-”
“Hey. We discussed this. I have hands, Chance. I tap twice on your leg if I need to stop. Just because my mouth is occupied doesn’t mean I’m completely useless,” Will says with a frown. “Yeah, the strain was a bit much, but I was just messing around. I put myself in that position.”
“You’re a lunatic, you know that? You’re absolutely crazy. Batshit insane,” Chance says with a heavy breath, shaking his head in disbelief.
Will smiles, shrugging once. He sits up slightly, still lying on his stomach, his own cock, hard and leaking, lying sandwiched between his body and the leather seat. He leans down once to press a parting kiss to the tip of Chance’s cock before sliding up, sleeve-covered palms landing flat on his chest, settling himself between Chance’s legs. Will’s body is curved perfectly, shoulder blades cutting into pale skin, back dipping at the waist, flaring out into a perfect ass and soft, fleshy thighs.
“You love me,” Will whispers with a small pout, looking so pliant and warm that it breaks something open inside Chance’s chest.
“Yeah, you bet I fucking do,” Chance replies huskily, leaning down to close the gap between their mouths. Will surges up instantly and parts his salty lips, knees knocking against Chance's.
~~~
It didn’t happen in the heat of anything. Not in the middle of a kiss. Not in the dark, not whispered against skin like a secret they could pretend didn’t count later.
They exchanged those three words for the first time on a random Tuesday during summer break, just a month ago, back in August.
The power had flickered twice that evening in the Wheelers' basement. Will had felt it, of course he did. The low, distant hum in the back of his skull. The awareness that something was awake.
He biked over to the Lawson house without thinking, but not before telling his mother that he simply needed some air. He had rushed out before she asked more questions, before Jonathan, or worse, Mike caught him in his frazzled state.
He showed up half an hour later, a hoodie thrown over his worn t-shirt. Chance opened the door, fresh out of a shower, wearing nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants. His dark eyes widened for a second before he reached out and pulled Will into the entryway, slamming the door shut behind him. Luckily, Chance’s parents and Jane had been out volunteering that evening at the Community Center, and Chance couldn't go because basketball practice went on longer than he’d anticipated.
Will didn’t say much at first, after he had pulled away and sniffled into his sleeve. He never did when the connection flared up this way. He kept his hands tucked into his sleeves, shoulders slightly hunched, like he was bracing against wind that wasn’t there.
Chance let him.
That was the thing about Chance. He wasn’t patient in most areas of his life. He was loud on the court, quick-tempered when the coach made bad calls, competitive to the point of recklessness, sometimes even violence that manifested in the form of bruised knuckles and split lips.
But with Will, he was learning how to be a better person.
“What does it feel like?” Chance asked eventually, voice low.
Will hesitated. “Like… he’s angry. So fucking angry. He’s always cold. Always cruel. But this feels different. Like his patience is wearing thin.”
Chance’s jaw tightened. “Does it hurt?”
“No…” Will paused, searching for the right word. No one had ever asked him if the goosebumps or the connection hurt. Usually, they were more focused on decoding what it meant rather than its effect on Will's psyche, his well-being. “It just reminds me that I’m not done with whatever this thing is. That I’ll never be, not as long as he lives.”
Chance led him to the couch in the living room, helping Will sit. Their bodies were turned to face each other, knees bumping. Will looked down, his hands tightly clasped on his lap.
“I hate that.”
Will glanced up at him. “Hate what?”
“That he still gets to touch you.”
The possessiveness in the statement wasn’t about ownership. It was about anger. Protective and helpless all at once.
Will took a deep breath and inched closer, the warmth of Chance's bare torso seeming to emanate into Will’s clothed body like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.
“It’s not your fault,” he whispered.
“It’s not, but I don’t know how to fix it,” Chance said quietly. “I can't just punch him, or shoot him, or scare him off.”
“You can’t,” Will agreed slowly, voice pitching up ever so slightly, like he was scared Chance would stomp out the house, miraculously track Henry down and do something stupidly life-threatening.
“I know, Will,” Chance said sharply, frustrated at the universe more than at Will. Then he exhaled, shoulders dropping. “But I can stay.”
"Huh?"
Chance swallowed. The confidence he wore like armor on the court was gone, no cocky grins or teasing deflections in sight.
“I can stay,” he repeated, softer. “Even when it’s bad. Even when you don’t talk. Even when you get that look on your face, like you’re halfway somewhere else.”
Will’s throat tightened. “You don’t have to,” he whispered.
“I know I don't. But I want to.”
Chance’s thumb brushed over Will’s knuckles, grounding both himself and Will in that delicate moment.
“You don’t get it,” Chance said desperately. “You think this is me being protective because you’re… you.” He shook his head slightly. “It’s not. It’s because you’re you.”
Will blinked, confusion knitting his brows.
Chance huffed out a breath, awkward laughter bubbling up his throat.
“You’re not a project. You’re not fragile. You’re not some tragedy I feel sorry for,” he explained. “You’re the bravest person I know and you don’t even realize it. You just… you just keep going, keep living. You're sweet, gentle, compassionate to a fault. Do you even know how fucking strong one has to be to stay true to who they are after going through what you did? You didn't let it consume you whole. That takes insane levels of resolve and will power.”
Will's breath caught in his lungs, aching and uncomfortable.
“I love you,” Chance continued, tilting Will’s face up until their eyes met. “I love you so fucking much that it hurts me every single day because I want to scream it from the rooftops.”
The world didn’t end. No alarms went off. Nothing fell to the floor and shattered into a million pieces.
But inside Will, something shifted almost violently.
Love was dangerous. Love was a spotlight. Love, for gay people, was something you whispered in coded language. If you had the privilege of finding another gay person to even say those words to, that is.
He searched Chance’s handsome face for even a shred of doubt. All he found was desperation and a yearning so strong that it made Will's heart do somersaults in his chest.
“You don’t have to say it back,” Chance added quickly, misreading Will’s silence. “I just- I needed you to know.”
Will didn't move or speak for a couple of strained seconds.
He had been loved before. By his mom. By Jonathan. By his friends. But this? This was different. This wasn’t built into him by blood or history or childhood proximity. This was someone choosing him, even when the world was on the verge of destruction. In full awareness of what it could cost to people like them. People who were anomalies, who went against the very fabric of life, who would be burned at the stake for simply existing.
“I… I’ve been in love with you for weeks, maybe even longer,” Will admitted softly, like confessing to a crime. “I just didn’t know how to say it without… without ruining this thing between us. I didn't want to put a name to it, that would have made it feel it too real.”
“You can’t ruin something that’s been real for a long fucking time, baby,” Chance replied with a smile, thumb brushing against Will’s cheek. “I love you.”
Will let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob.
“I love you, too,” he said, feeling giddy and delirious all at once. Chance laughed with him, tucking him close and pressing his lips to Will’s forehead.
~~~
The spores are falling more heavily now as the evening deepens outside of Chance’s idle Camaro, but it goes unnoticed by the two boys inside who are lost in the heat of each other’s bodies.
Chance’s letterman stays bunched up around Will’s waist, while Chance has finally managed to rid himself of his clothes. Will’s on his forearms and knees, bone digging into leather, back arching clean and ass presented perfectly as Chance is kneeled up behind him, hips snapping at a punishing pace.
Will is drooling, head tilted back, tingles shooting down his spine and goosebumps dotting the back of his neck. His skin is prickly, hot and cold flashes jolting through him in intervals. Maybe it’s the hive mind acting up. Maybe it’s Chance fucking him within an inch of his life. Maybe it’s both at the same damn time. But Will couldn't care less, not when his body is singing in ways he didn't know possible.
Sex with Chance, somehow, feels different every time. Will doesn't know how Chance does it, unlocking kinks he didn't even know he possessed until Chance drew it out of him seamlessly. Chance plays his body like a fiddle, effectively ruining him for anyone else, and Will lets him because he trusts him with his life, would follow Chance to the ends of the earth if he so asked.
Chance grabs Will by his hair and roughly hoists him up until he’s upright, back to Chance's chest. Will moans, loud and guttural, the sound quickly muffled by a large, calloused hand slapping over his mouth.
“Shh. The military can’t hear what a good little slut you’re being for me. You're mine, remember?” Chance growls quietly in Will’s ear. He locks both of Will’s wrists at the base of his spine with one hand, smooth and effortless, pressing down to make sure Will stays arched for him. His other hand moves from Will’s mouth to squeeze one ass cheek, the pillowy flesh giving way so easily under Chance’s calloused palm.
“Chance, Chance, Chance,” Will whimpers like a broken mantra, teetering on the edge of hysteria and euphoria, mind buzzing from how Chance’s cock hits his prostate dead-on with every relentless, unforgiving thrust.
Will's body quakes erratically as his head falls back against Chance’s shoulder, sweat rolling down his sternum. His stomach visibly distends, the obscene bulge of Chance’s cock a stark silhouette in the dim light filtering in through the tinted backseat windows.
Chance shushes Will, whispering praises even as his body continues its delicious, mind-melting assault. Will’s hands may be locked behind his back, but Chance knows that if Will wants to stop, all he has to do is tap his fingers, or just use his words.
Will doesn’t do either.
“You good, baby?” Chance murmurs softly, nosing along the side of Will’s neck.
Will nods frantically, tears of pleasure leaking out the corner of his eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah. Fuck, I feel crazy. You make me feel so fucking crazy,” he sobs, voice throaty.
"Mmm. Good boy. I'll make you feel even crazier, don't worry," Chance whispers, slowly licking the sensitive shell of Will’s ear. He lets go of Will’s ass, reaching around to stroke Will’s cock in time with his thrusts, wrist flicking fast enough to blur. Will's body jerks, and he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from moaning out loud like the whore Chance brings out of him.
“Look down. Look at me moving inside you, baby,” he rasps in Will’s ear, dark eyes dilating even further, watching greedily as Will blearily lifts his head from his shoulder to look down at his own stomach.
“I- What- Chance-” Will splutters.
“Shh. It’s just me. You’re fine. You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect,” Chance coos. He frees Will’s wrists, allowing him to touch the bulge in his stomach. Chance makes sure Will stays upright by holding him up by his waist.
Will’s index finger twitches, barely grazing the bulge in his belly before they’re both hissing. Chance goes still as a statue, cock buried all the way to the hilt. His breathing is strained as he hooks his chin over Will’s shoulder, watching quietly as Will tries again, slower and more careful this time.
Will presses the soft, stretched pale skin with the pad of his finger. He feels the length of the shaft, thick and veiny, finger working its way up to feel the fleshy weight of the head before sliding back down. Chance growls at the phantom sensation, burying his face into the side of Will’s neck, teeth sinking in to the skin there. Unable to stay still for any longer, he starts to thrust again, his wrist stroking Will's cock with renewed purpose.
Will screams, body jolting, hand falling away from his stomach, but Chance is too far gone in his manic state of lust to bother covering his mouth.
“I love you so fucking much. My baby, mine, all mine,” he rasps against Will’s neck, wishing he could just tear open his skin and live inside of him forever.
“Chance. Chance. Please. I love you, I’m yours, only yours. Don’t stop. Oh god, don’t fucking stop,” Will sobs, turning his neck to look back at him. Chance lifts his head and crashes their lips together, teeth on teeth, saliva and tears mixing together and dripping onto the leather seats. “Just stay inside me. Please. Please.”
“I won't stop. I promise. I’m not letting go,” Chance slurs, vision going spotty from how hard he’s going. He finally slams into Will one last time, gripping his waist tight enough to bruise, emptying himself inside of him for what feels like hours. Will’s body seizes up shortly after, and with a sharp cry of Chance’s name, he comes all over Chance’s hand, splattering the seats with his essence.
By the time Will starts to wind down from his orgasm, Chance is still not done, filling Will up until it starts to overflow. Will whimpers through it, feeling so full that he can almost hear the way his stomach gurgles.
An entire minute later, they finally collapse down onto the backseat, sweat and fluids mixing together everywhere, on every inch of skin and every inch of leather.
Fuck. Chance is going to have to wake up at the crack of dawn to get the car deep cleaned without his dad noticing.
Will is shaking from the aftershocks, body vibrating at a frenzied pace.
Chance groans, boneless and spent, but carefully helps Will lay on top of him fully, Will's cheek pressing into Chance’s bare chest.
“Breathe. Just breathe. In for four. Out for four. Just like Robin taught you," Chance wheezes out.
Will shivers but complies, taking deep, steadying breaths, focusing on the way his pale, soft skin contrasts sharply against the golden tan of Chance’s hard body.
“Good boy. Such a good boy. That’s it,” Chance murmurs hoarsely, fingers lazily carding through the sweaty strands of Will’s brown hair.
Soon, they’ll have to head back to their respective homes and avoid getting caught by the military for being out past curfew. But for now, in the quiet of Chance’s car with the world blocked out, they let themselves soak in each other's presence for just a little bit longer.
~~~
Chance doesn’t kill the engine immediately when he pulls up outside the Squawk to drop Will off one evening, two months later. His Camaro idles, the hood vibrating faintly under the neon lights of the large WSQK sign. The doors to the Squawk are propped open, fluorescent light spilling onto the steps.
Inside, Will knows Dustin and Hopper are probably arguing about signal interference and Mike is probably pacing holes into the floor while Steve and Robin exchange exasperated looks. Jonathan and Nancy are probably talking quietly with their heads bent together, while Jane will be sitting in silence, watching wearily as Mike continues to pace. Joyce will be sitting next to Jane, trying to focus on the conversation but constantly looking up to see if her youngest son has returned. Lucas will probably be at Hawkins Memorial Hospital, sitting at Max’s bedside along with Erica.
It should feel routine by now. It doesn’t.
In three days, it will be November 6th. Another year since the night the Upside Down swallowed Will whole. The anniversary sits in his chest like a stone he can’t shift. He hasn’t told anyone, except Chance, about how loud the connection has been this week. How the back of his neck prickles at random moments. How sometimes it feels like something is counting down. To what, he has no clue.
He reaches for the door handle.
“Can I come in?” Chance asks suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Will feels his shoulders tense automatically. “Chance-”
“I want to sit in on the meetings,” Chance barrels on. “I want to know what you’re all planning. Not the edited version. Not the ‘don’t worry about it’ version.”
“It’s not about editing,” Will says, voice sharp. “It’s about keeping you out of it.”
“Why?”
“Because Hopper is the only one doing Crawls for a reason. The fewer people involved, the better. If something goes wrong-”
“Something is already wrong,” Chance cuts in. His jaw tightens, but his voice doesn’t rise. “Something’s been wrong for years now. And you’re at the heart of it, Will. As much as I want to pretend things are fine, I’m fucking scared, okay? Scared for my parents, my sister, my friends, even for myself. But none of that compares to how scared I am for you.”
Will pauses, a lump forming in his throat.
“My mom double-checks the locks every night. My sister won’t sleep unless I read her bedtime stories until she passes out. I’m not pretending this isn’t real,” Chance exhales slowly. “But sitting on my ass while you’re in there planning for something that could hurt you makes me feel useless.”
“You’re not useless.”
“Then why do I feel like I am?”
Will presses his lips together. He doesn’t know how to explain that the thought of Chance sitting next to him in front of the entire group makes his chest tighten for a completely different reason.
“I can handle this by myself,” Will says finally. “I’ve been handling it since I was 12.”
Chance leans back slightly in his seat, but he doesn’t look away. “That’s exactly what scares me. You talk like you’re supposed to carry it alone. Like that’s just your job.”
Will feels heat creep up his neck. “It kind of is.”
“No,” Chance says, voice gruff. “It isn’t.”
The Camaro hums between them. A military vehicle passes at the end of the street, slow and watchful, headlights sweeping briefly across the windshield before disappearing.
“I don’t want to orbit your life,” Chance continues. “I don’t want to be the guy who drops you off and waits outside and hopes you come back okay. I don’t want to be the guy who loves you only when no one’s looking. I want to be in the room, Will. I want all of it, all of you.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Then make it simple.”
Will lets out a shaky breath. “If you’re in there, you’re tied to this. Officially. You can’t just walk away, Chance. You could get hurt, badly. Your family-”
Chance’s voice cuts in again. “You think I haven’t thought about what this could cost me? My family finding out about us?” He swallows. “I know what it's like for two guys who don’t fit the mold. I’m not stupid.”
Will’s chest aches at that. “Then why are you pushing this?”
“Because I’m tired of you belonging to me only when it's the two of us," Chance whispers aggressively. “If I walk in there, I won't be sitting in the corner like I’m some random guy who got lost. I want to be there as your boyfriend. I want you to say it. And if you don't, I will.”
Will’s pulse stutters.
Boyfriend.
“I don’t know how to do that,” Will admits, eyes glassy.
“I know you don't, but I also know that you can.”
“You’re asking me to be seen,” Will says fiercely, trembling against the passenger seat. “Three days before the anniversary of the worst thing that ever happened to me. Three days before everyone looks at me differently anyway.”
Chance’s expression almost crumbles. He didn’t forget. He would never forget. But hearing Will say it out loud makes something flicker across his face. Anger at the world, maybe. Or grief on Will’s behalf.
“I’m not asking you to make a grand speech,” Chance says heavily. “I’m asking you to stop holding yourself back for the sake of people who would never extend the same courtesy to you. I am asking you to give yourself one less thing to hide, to stress over, to waste your time thinking about.”
Will stares at the dashboard. For most of his life, being unnoticed has been survival. Blending in. Shrinking down. Letting other people take up space. Even when the bullying stopped, even when the people of Hawkins finally realized that their problems extended far beyond Hellfire Club and Zombie Boy.
But this is different.
This is someone not just choosing him, but choosing to be seen with him, out in the open. To walk into the fire side by side, to face whatever bullshit the world has in store for them. Not because Chance is forced to, or has a gun to his head, but because he cares for Will too much to keep hiding him away like a shameful secret. Because love really does make people crazy, and that damn stupid.
And maybe, just maybe, Will is exhausted of hiding himself from the people he calls family. Maybe he wants them to see that not only is he still standing, but is finally discovering who he really is, with the love of his life right next to him.
“I don’t want you to regret it,” Will whispers.
“I won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Maybe not,” Chance says. “But I can promise that I’ll regret not trying.”
Silence settles between them again, thick but not hostile.
Will turns to Chance, really looks at him; at the steadiness in his dark eyes, at the nervousness he’s trying to hide, at the stubborn loyalty that has nothing to do with ego and everything to do with a love so strong it burns everything he touches, Will included.
Will doesn't mind. He doesn't like it cold, anyways.
“Okay,” Will says in voice so soft that Chance almost doesn't catch it.
He blinks. “Okay?”
“You can come in,” Will says slowly. “And I’ll tell them.”
“You’re... You're sure?” Chance asks tentatively.
Will nods. He’s scared, but he’s also done pretending that the others haven't been underestimating him for far too long, himself included.
Chance finally turns the engine off, and their eyes meet. The sudden quiet feels loud, loud enough for their heartbeats to sync up.
Will doesn’t know who moves first, but it doesn’t matter.
They lean into each other over the center console, seatbelts digging into their skin. Will’s lips move slowly, tenderly against Chance’s, soft groans and sighs spilling into the air, hands gripping and squeezing each other with devotion rather than lust.
Chance drags his lips away, moving to unbuckle both their seatbelts. “I love you, Will,” he murmurs roughly, head dipping back down to plant soft, wet kisses on Will’s lips, cupping his face in both of his rough palms.
Will feels dizzy, heat flooding his insides. He holds on to Chance like a drowning man, a pleasant buzz simmering in his veins as Chance kisses him thoroughly, until Will is nothing more than a puddle melting into the passenger seat.
“I love you, too, Chance,” Will whispers against his lips.
Eventually, they compose themselves and step out of the Camaro, the frigid air sharp in their lungs. As they walk toward the station door, Chance rounds the car to take Will's hand in his. Will feels the weight of the week ahead pressing down on him; the anniversary, the hive mind, the looming showdown.
But for once, he isn’t walking into it alone.