Chapter 1: The Streetlight Between Us
Chapter Text
Will couldn’t sleep.
The Wheeler basement felt stifling, the thick air clinging to his skin as if he were still trapped in the Upside Down. He tossed and turned on the mattress, the sheets tangled around his legs, listening to Jonathan’s low, steady snoring from the couch. It should have been comforting.
It wasn’t.
His mind was everywhere and nowhere at once.
Mike.
The way he looked at him without ever saying what Will needed to hear.
The guilt pressing heavy in his chest, the feeling that he could have done more against Vecna.
Dustin, trying to be strong after Eddie’s death.
His mother, watching him with tired eyes, as if he could disappear again at any moment.
Will knew exhaustion would eventually win.
Just not yet.
He sat up slowly and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, careful not to make a sound. He grabbed his hoodie and headed for the basement’s back door, turning the knob gently. He didn’t want to wake Jonathan. He didn’t want questions. He didn’t want to explain something he didn’t even understand himself.
The cold early-morning air hit him the moment he stepped outside.
He walked through the Wheeler neighborhood with his hands in his pockets, his head tilted up toward the sky. The stars were clearer at this hour, when Hawkins seemed normal—quiet, almost safe. It had to be close to four in the morning.
For a moment, the calm was enough.
Then he heard footsteps behind him.
Will’s heart jumped. He froze, turning around, body tense, ready to run if he had to. His mind already searched for impossible shadows, memories he didn’t want to relive.
But it wasn’t a monster.
It was just a boy.
His age… maybe a year older.
It took Will a second to recognize him, but when he did, a different kind of knot tightened in his stomach.
Chance.
Only this wasn’t the Chance from school.
The Chance Will knew had perfectly styled hair, trendy clothes that showed off his build, always laughing, always talking—though he usually hung back a little behind Andy and the rest of the basketball team. Will had never hated him. But he’d never thought of him as good, either. Not when he was Andy’s friend. Not after Eddie.
This Chance looked different.
His hair was loose, natural, falling into his face. He wore round glasses that softened his features, an oversized green hoodie, pajama pants, and—slippers?
He didn’t seem alert. Or aggressive. He hadn’t even noticed Will.
In fact, he kept walking until he nearly bumped into him.
“Oh—” Chance said, stepping back. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”
His voice was low, a little rough, like he’d just gotten out of bed.
Will didn’t answer right away. He just stared, trying to reconcile this tired, unguarded boy with the Tiger who shouted in school hallways.
“Will, right?” Chance said after a second, tilting his head. “Byers.”
Will nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
Silence fell between them—awkward, but not hostile. Chance tugged at his hoodie, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he probably looked.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he added. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”
Something sharp and unfamiliar tugged at Will’s chest.
He didn’t know why those words sounded so familiar.
“Me neither,” he admitted.
Chance looked up at the sky, following the same path Will had been watching. A streetlight buzzed softly nearby, painting a pale yellow circle on the pavement.
“It’s weird,” Chance murmured. “Hawkins looks different when everyone’s asleep. Like it’s… pretending to be normal.”
Will glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
For the first time since leaving the house, his breathing steadied a little.
Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.
Chance moved first.
“Do you… want to walk for a bit?” he asked, gesturing vaguely down the sidewalk, as if it didn’t really matter.
Will hesitated for only a second. He didn’t particularly want to say yes—but he also couldn’t find a reason to say no.
“Okay,” he said.
They walked side by side, the sound of their steps blending with the distant chirping of crickets. Neither spoke. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, but it wasn’t aggressive either. It was the kind of silence that appears when two people don’t know what space they occupy in each other’s lives.
They’d never really talked before.
Will thought about school, how their groups seemed like parallel worlds colliding only at the worst moments. Almost always Dustin, Mike or Lucas arguing with Andy, with the Tigers. Will usually stayed back, watching, feeling, never intervening. And now that he thought about it, Chance often hung back too—present, but never leading.
Chance broke the silence first.
“I heard the Byers moved to California,” he said carefully. “I thought… well. That you weren’t coming back.”
Will kept his eyes forward.
“We did move,” he said.
Chance nodded, like he already knew. He took a few steps before asking,
“So… why’d you come back?”
Will clenched his fists in his hoodie pockets. The answer was simple, but saying it aloud made his chest ache.
“The earthquake,” he said. “I heard what happened… and that people I care about got hurt.”
He didn’t name anyone. He didn’t need to.
Chance looked down at the sidewalk, where another streetlight cast soft, long shadows between them.
“That makes sense,” he said quietly.
They walked on. The cold air slipped up Will’s sleeves, but he didn’t mind. He welcomed it—it grounded him.
“It must be weird,” Chance added after a while. “Leaving so far… and coming back right after all that.”
Will thought about California. The constant sun. How little he had helped.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
Chance didn’t press. He didn’t ask anything else. Will realized quietly that he appreciated that.
They kept walking through Hawkins, two boys who had never been on the same side, sharing the early morning under the hum of streetlights.
Will felt the urge to ask harder questions.
Why Chance and his friends had been so cruel.
Why the hallways felt smaller when they were around.
Why everything had gone so wrong.
But he didn’t.
He knew those questions would tighten the air. Turn the walk into something hostile. And for some reason, he didn’t want that.
He searched for something simpler. Something safe.
“Do you really like playing basketball?” he asked finally, not looking at him.
Chance blinked, surprised, then smiled—small, honest.
“Yeah… I like it,” he said. “It’s fun. I like teamwork, I guess.”
He paused, shrugging.
“But honestly, I think I’d like swimming more.”
Will looked at him.
“Swimming?”
“Yeah.” Chance tilted his head up toward the sky. “I’ve always loved water. Since I was a kid. It calms me. In a pool, in a lake, everything feels… slower. Easier to handle.”
Will nodded slowly. He understood the feeling, though his was different.
“I like drawing,” he said, almost like a confession.
Chance turned to him, interested.
“Really?”
Will shrugged.
“I’m not the best or anything,” he added quickly. “But they’re not stick figures either. I think I’m… decent.”
Chance let out a quiet laugh that faded into the morning.
“That’s already more than most people can say.”
It wasn’t mocking. It sounded genuine.
They walked a little further. Will felt the knot in his chest loosen. Talking about simple things—water, basketball, drawing—pushed the past into silence, at least for a while.
“Do you draw people, or…?” Chance asked.
Will hesitated.
“A bit of everything,” he said. “What I feel. Sometimes things I don’t understand yet.”
Chance nodded slowly, as if that answer meant more than Will realized.
For the first time since he stepped outside, Will thought maybe this conversation wasn’t an accident.
They kept walking in silence.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was light, almost easy. Will wasn’t sure how much time had passed—half an hour, maybe more. Time stretched strangely at that hour.
It was the light that pulled him back.
A pale glow crept between the houses, turning the sky a soft gray-blue. Dawn. Will stopped short.
“I have to go back,” he said, urgency creeping into his voice.
If I don’t get back soon, he thought, they’ll notice. Then the questions. The panic. The irrational fear that something—or someone—took me again.
Chance followed his gaze and nodded.
“Yeah… me too. My mom would kill me if I wasn’t in bed by sunrise.”
He paused.
“She’s still tense about… everything. The murders last year, the earthquake. She doesn’t sleep much.”
Will understood without having to explain.
Chance frowned, serious.
“Then I’ll walk you back.”
Will shook his head immediately.
“It’s not my house. It’s the Wheelers’. My family’s staying there until we can go back to ours… the one in the woods.”
“Oh,” Chance said, like it fit into something he already knew.
Then, after a beat,
“I’ll still walk you.”
It wasn’t a question.
They walked together until the Wheeler house appeared, quiet and dark, like the world hadn’t decided to wake up yet. Will stopped at the edge of the yard.
“Thanks,” he said. “And… be careful getting home.”
Chance smiled faintly.
“I will.”
Will hesitated, then added without thinking,
“You don’t seem as much of an asshole as I thought.”
Chance laughed softly, surprised.
“You don’t seem as creepy as I thought.”
They looked at each other for a moment. No bitterness. Just a shared, awkward truth.
“I guess that’s good,” Will murmured.
“I guess,” Chance echoed.
Chance stepped back, then turned and walked away. Will watched him disappear down the sidewalk, bathed in the glow of the streetlights.
When he returned to the basement, Jonathan’s snoring was still steady, familiar.
Will lay back down, his body tired, his mind lighter.
For the first time in hours, he slept.
Chapter 2: The basketball team, the Hellfire club, and Chrissy.
Summary:
Will and Chance meet again, and they talk about important things.
Chapter Text
Will woke up to sunlight filtering through the small basement window.
For a second, he didn't know where he was. Then he remembered: the Wheelers' house, the mattress on the floor, Jonathan breathing steadily on the couch. And the walk.
He closed his eyes again. He didn't want to think about it yet. He didn't want to think about Chance.
The day passed slowly and quickly at the same time. Breakfast with everyone—his family and the Wheelers—in the usual chaotic morning, half-finished conversations about fixing up the Byers' house and when they might move back. Will listened, nodded, but his mind was somewhere else.
When it was time to head to school, he felt a knot in his stomach he hadn't expected.
Hawkins High looked the same: walls cracked from last year's earthquake, new posters recruiting for the basketball team, constant murmurs in the hallways. Everyone was pretending life was back to normal.
Will walked alongside Mike, Dustin, and Lucas toward math class.
Dustin had his Thinking Cap pulled low, hands in his pockets, barely saying a word. Since Eddie, he hardly talked about campaigns or jokes anymore; sometimes he'd drop a bitter comment about the town, but today he just walked in silence.
Lucas was on the other side, standing straighter than usual, like he was always on guard. Every now and then he'd check his watch: counting the hours until he could go to the hospital to see Max. His eyes looked tired, darker than normal.
Mike walked closer to Will, like always. Every so often he'd glance over.
And then he saw him.
On the opposite side of the hallway, coming the other way, was the group of Tigers. Andy leading as usual, laughing loud even though no one matched his energy like before. A couple other guys. And one step behind, as always, Chance.
His hair was slicked back, wearing the basketball team jacket with his name on it over a tight white shirt, backpack slung over one shoulder. Nothing like the guy in slippers and glasses from the night before.
Their eyes met.
It was only a second.
Chance looked first. He didn't smile, didn't wave. He just looked. A quick glance, but intense, like he was remembering something he shouldn't.
Will felt the hallway shrink.
He didn't smile either. He kept walking slower, like his feet were hesitating.
Chance didn't stop. He stayed with his group, but Will swore he turned his head just a fraction more to keep him in sight.
Then they passed each other.
So close that Will could smell his cologne. So close their shoulders almost brushed.
Neither spoke.
Neither looked back.
Will kept walking with his friends. The group's silence was heavy, but familiar. No one felt like talking much these days.
Mike was the first to break it, low, just for Will:
"You okay?" he asked, looking at him straight on. "You seem... out of it."
Will swallowed. He felt the weight of that gaze. The same one that had known him since they were kids.
"Yeah," he lied. "Just tired."
Mike frowned for a second, like he wanted to push, but Lucas gave him a quick look and Mike went quiet. They knew it wasn't the time to press.
Dustin didn't even look up.
But Will wasn't tired. Even though he'd barely slept a couple hours.
He was wide awake like never before.
On the other side of the hallway, Chance walked with the Tigers. Andy said something and he replied with a laugh that sounded hollow. He ran a hand through his hair.
And in his head, one phrase looping:
Last night wasn't a dream.
The rest of the day was a blur. Will didn't see him again until the end, when the Tigers headed to the gym.
Chance was at the back again.
And this time, when their eyes met at the main doors, Will didn't look away as fast.
Chance didn't either.
Just one second longer.
A silent confirmation.
See you tonight.
Neither said it.
But they both knew.
Chapter 3 – What Seemed Right (and What I Don't Show Anyone) Fall 1987
Will hadn't planned on going out again. Really.
He kept telling himself that as he pulled on his hoodie and slipped out the basement door. At some point Jonathan had quietly headed upstairs—clearly to Nancy's room—so he didn't have to be as careful or quiet. It wasn't a plan. Just... need. And curiosity.
The October air was colder than the last time. Dry leaves crunched under his sneakers as he walked through the Wheelers' neighborhood. The sky was clear, full of stars that seemed farther away than ever.
He didn't go straight to the same spot. He took a longer route, like he was trying to prove to himself he wasn't looking for anything.
But he ended up under the same streetlamp anyway.
And Chance was already there.
Sitting on the curb next to the lamp, an old blanket over his shoulders, knees drawn up. This time he had his glasses on, hair messy like he'd been awake for hours. When he saw Will approaching, he didn't look surprised. He just raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly.
"You're late," he said softly.
Will stopped.
"I didn't know there was a time," he replied, though he felt a strange warmth in his chest.
Chance shrugged under the blanket.
"I got here at one-thirty. Thought maybe... you wouldn't come."
Will sat beside him, leaving less space than the first night. The cold justified it.
"I thought the same," he admitted.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the empty street. The wind rustled the leaves like Hawkins was breathing slowly.
Chance spoke first.
"Today in the hallway... I saw you."
Will nodded without looking at him.
"Yeah."
Another silence. Shorter this time.
"I didn't know what to do," Chance said. "Waving would've been... weird. With everyone watching."
Will let out a low, almost inaudible laugh.
"Yeah. Weird."
Chance turned his head toward him.
"Did it bother you?"
Will finally looked at him. The streetlamp light reflected softly in Chance's glasses.
"No," he said. "Just... I'm not used to someone like you looking at me like that."
Chance looked down for a second.
"I'm not like them," he murmured. "Not completely. Never was."
Silence returned, but Will felt something heavy in the air. Something he'd been avoiding since the first night.
He took a deep breath.
"Chance... can I ask you something?"
Chance looked at him. The lamp cast a soft glow on his glasses.
"Sure."
Will looked down at his hands.
"About Eddie."
Chance's body tensed immediately. Will felt it, even without touching.
Chance didn't say anything at first. Just nodded slowly.
"I've heard my friends' version," Will continued, voice low. "Dustin's, Lucas's... and the real one. What actually happened."
Chance glanced at him sideways.
"The real one?"
Will nodded.
"Eddie didn't kill Chrissy. Or Patrick, or Fred. It was... something or someone else. Something that sounds crazy to explain."
Chance went quiet for a long time. The wind rustled the dry leaves on the sidewalk.
"I know he didn't do it," he said finally, almost a whisper. "At least... now I do."
Will looked at him, surprised.
"Now?"
Chance let out a bitter laugh.
"Back then it seemed so clear. Jason was... destroyed. Chrissy was his girlfriend, yeah, but she was my friend too. One of the few people who knew things about me no one else did. That I didn't always want to be like Andy. That the pressure got to me. That I liked reading books that weren't about sports. Stupid stuff, but she listened without judging."
Will felt a lump in his throat.
"When we found out what happened to her..." Chance went on, staring ahead. "Bones broken, eyes... it was horrible. Like torture. No one deserves that. Jason was convinced Eddie did it. And if he could kill like that... who said he hadn't raped her first? That he wasn't a complete psycho? The whole town said it. The police, the newspapers..."
He paused. His voice shook a little.
"And I believed it. Because it was easier to believe that than think there was something worse. Back then it seemed right. We were furious. We wanted someone to pay. We wanted revenge."
Will listened without interrupting.
Chance ran a hand through his hair.
"But things didn't add up. Eddie was weird, yeah. Loud music, weird shirts, that demon game... but he didn't seem crazy. Didn't seem capable of that. Sometimes I'd see him in the halls and... I don't know. He seemed lonely."
Will felt his chest ache. Because he knew exactly what that loneliness felt like.
"After Eddie died..." Chance continued, quieter. "I started doubting. Andy got obsessive. The rest of the team too. But I started pulling away. Couldn't sleep thinking we'd helped kill an innocent guy."
He turned to Will. His eyes were wet.
"I'm sorry, Will. He was your friend, right? I know he meant a lot to Henderson, to all of you. And I was on the wrong side."
Will looked at him for a long moment.
"I didn't really know Eddie," Will said. "I only heard about him in letters and calls from my friends while I was in California."
"You weren't the one who chased him to the end," he continued. "And you're here now. Doubting. Questioning it. That's already more than Jason or Andy ever did."
Chance let out a slow breath.
"Doesn't change what happened."
"No," Will admitted. "But it changes what can happen now."
They sat in silence. The wind blew colder.
Chance leaned his head against the lamp post, closing his eyes for a second.
"Thanks for asking," he murmured. "No one's done that. Not even me."
Will felt something shift inside him. Not pain. Something softer.
Without thinking much, he moved his hand and left it on the curb between them. Palm up.
Chance opened his eyes, saw it, hesitated a second... then moved his until their fingers brushed.
Neither spoke.
After a while, Chance glanced at Will's pocket. The corner of a small, worn notebook was sticking out.
"Hey... what's that?" he asked, curiosity soft.
Will looked down. He hadn't even realized he'd brought it.
"Oh... my notebook," he murmured. "I always carry it. Habit."
Chance smiled a little.
"The drawing one?"
Will nodded, feeling heat in his face.
"You asked if I'd ever show you something," he said, almost a whisper. "So... why not now?"
Chance blinked, surprised.
"For real?"
Will handed it over before he could back out.
"But don't laugh."
Chance took it carefully and opened the first page.
And went quiet.
He turned the pages slowly: dragons, knights, wizards, and more. Dustin laughing, Lucas focused, Max on her skateboard, Mike looking off into the distance. A girl Chance didn't recognize, but who'd say she looked a bit like Will—just with long hair. Landscapes of the woods, the arcade, a quiet lake.
"Will... these are incredible," he murmured. "You've got real talent."
Will shrugged, nervous.
"They're not that big a deal..."
Chance kept going. He reached the others.
A giant spider crawling out of a red crack. A flower with petals like sharp teeth. A melting clock. A human silhouette floating with limbs twisted at impossible angles.
He lingered longer on these. Looked at them seriously, in awe.
Will held his breath.
"These are... different," Chance said finally.
"They're from nightmares," Will admitted. "Or things I felt. They just come out."
Chance looked up.
"Not normal nightmares, huh?"
Will shook his head.
Chance looked back at the spider.
"It's terrifying... but also beautiful. The details, the shadows... it feels real."
He closed the notebook carefully and handed it back.
"Thanks for showing me. I feel... special."
Will took it. Smiled faintly, looking at the ground.
"Maybe you are."
Chance shifted closer, until their shoulders touched fully.
"You know," he said after a bit, "if you ever want to draw something less dark... a lake, or maybe space—it's beautiful... or me. I'd love to see it." He added with a wink.
Will looked at him, surprised.
"You?"
Chance blushed a little under the streetlamp.
"If you want. Just saying."
Will smiled for real—the first time that night.
"Maybe I will. Though you're kinda ugly."
"Rude and a liar—my mom says I'm the handsomest of all."
Will and Chance just laughed, trying to keep it quiet in the middle of the silent street.
And when they parted that early morning, Will felt like he was carrying something new in his chest.
Something that wasn't fear.
Chapter 3: Empty school, morning talk.
Summary:
Will and Chance wake up early.
Notes:
I like to think that the girl with glasses whom Lucas was protecting when Vecna wanted to take her, is Chance's sister.
Chapter Text
Will left the Wheeler house earlier than usual.
He told himself it was because he couldn’t fall back asleep— not after going back down to the basement, thinking about Chance, and feeling relieved that Jonathan wasn’t there. The truth was simpler: he wanted to be alone for a while before the house filled with noise and people. Before Mike started asking questions he still didn’t know how to answer.
He pedaled toward the high school in the gray light of dawn, the October air sharp against his face. Holly was still asleep, and Mike would probably be wondering where he’d gone, but Will needed the quiet.
Hawkins High looked strange when it was empty: no cars in the parking lot, no voices bouncing off the cracked walls, just the faint squeak of the flag rope moving in the wind.
Will chained his bike to the post near the main entrance and turned to go inside.
Then he heard an engine.
A blue pickup truck—older but well cared for, with a few dents and slightly faded paint—rolled slowly into the parking lot. It parked a few spaces away.
The door opened and Chance stepped out.
He was wearing the same basketball team jacket as yesterday, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his hair still a little messy from sleep (or the lack of it). He closed the door carefully and looked up—then froze when he saw Will standing there.
For a few seconds they just stared at each other across the empty parking lot. Neither of them moved. The air suddenly felt heavier.
Chance glanced around quickly: teachers, custodians, students—anyone. There was no one. The school wouldn’t open for another hour.
Only then did he relax. He dropped his shoulders and walked toward Will, hands in his pockets, but slower than necessary.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost hoarse from lack of sleep.
“Hey,” Will replied, and his own voice sounded shakier than he expected.
Chance stopped a couple of meters away, studying Will’s face with a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Rough night?” he asked. “Because if I had to guess from those dark circles… you didn’t sleep either.”
Will let out a quiet laugh, touching under his eye by reflex. This time, he didn’t look away.
“Looks like we’re both early risers today.”
Chance nodded toward the front courtyard.
“Wanna sit? This place is dead for a good while.”
Will shrugged, but followed him. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the silence.
They sat on one of the concrete benches under the trees that were already losing their leaves. The sky was still gray, but it was starting to brighten in the east. They were close enough that Will could feel the warmth coming off Chance, even with the cold air.
Neither of them said much at first. They just sat there, looking at the empty parking lot, the wind pushing dry leaves across the ground.
Suddenly, Chance yawned—wide and unashamed—and stretched back with his arms raised. His jacket fell open and his white shirt rode up slightly with the movement, revealing a strip of tan skin at his torso: flat, lightly defined from basketball practice, with a thin line of dark hair trailing down from his navel and disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.
Will couldn’t help it. He stared. His heart gave a stupid, hard lurch, and the air caught in his throat. Chance’s skin looked soft, warm despite the cold, and for a second Will imagined what it would feel like to brush it with his fingers.
Chance lowered his arms slowly, as if he knew exactly the effect he’d had. He glanced sideways at Will, a half-smile on his lips—this one openly mischievous.
“Sorry,” he said, voice lower. “I’m dead tired.”
Will swallowed, forcing his gaze down to the leaves on the ground.
“Me too,” he murmured, even though his pulse said otherwise.
They stayed quiet for a while longer. But it wasn’t peaceful anymore. Will felt the closeness like static electricity: Chance’s arm inches from his, the warmth coming in waves, the faint smell of soap and something else that was just him.
Will glanced at him again. Now that they were alone and unhurried, something that had been circling his thoughts for days surfaced.
“Why don’t I remember you from before?” Will asked finally, softly. “Everyone here has known each other forever. More or less.”
Chance turned his head toward him. His brown eyes held Will’s a second longer than necessary.
“I’m not from here,” he said. “I’ve only been in Hawkins for two years.”
Will blinked.
“Two years?”
“Yeah. We got here shortly before you guys moved to California.”
Will nodded slowly.
“Where are you from?”
Chance looked ahead, but when he shifted, his knee brushed lightly against Will’s. Neither of them moved away.
“My mom’s Filipina, my dad’s American. They met in the Philippines when he went there to research Asian history. He’s obsessed with the old world—ruins, myths… They fell in love, and we lived in California first. Then he got a job in Indianapolis, so we moved closer.”
Will watched him with curiosity, feeling each word pull him closer.
“So… you’re Filipino-American.”
Chance nodded, and this time his smile was wider, almost shy.
“Yeah. Tan skin and brown eyes from my mom. I have a younger sister, Mia… she takes after my dad more: pale skin, blue eyes, wears glasses all the time. It’s funny when we go out together. She’s friends with Holly Wheeler, you know? They’re always playing together.”
Will felt a strange twinge at hearing Holly’s name, but he ignored it and just nodded.
“It’s weird being the new kid in a town like this,” Chance continued, his voice softer. “Everyone already has their groups from kindergarten. Basketball was the easiest way to fit in.”
Will understood perfectly. Being different.
“Sounds… complicated,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he meant.
Chance shrugged, but his knee brushed Will’s again—this time without any excuse—and stayed there.
“It was, at first. But you get used to it.”
The silence that followed was thick, charged. Will felt like the space between them had shrunk to nothing. He could see Chance’s long eyelashes, the faint sheen of sweat at his neck despite the cold, the rise and fall of his chest.
Chance glanced at him again, and this time he didn’t look away.
“And you…” he said suddenly, his voice low and curious. “Tell me something about you. Your family. You’ve got siblings, right? I always see you with—mmm, Jonathan?—but is it just him?”
Will tensed slightly. The question was innocent, but family was always delicate territory. He hesitated, staring at the ground, feeling Chance’s knee still pressed against his.
“I have two,” he said finally, quietly. “Jonathan… and Jane.”
Chance raised an eyebrow, interested.
“Jane?”
Will nodded, not looking at him.
“She’s… adopted. My mom took her in a few years ago. She’s really my sister, but… she’s in California now. She stayed there with some relatives when we came back. That’s why you won’t see her here.”
Chance nodded slowly, processing. His knee pressed just a little more, almost imperceptibly.
“Sounds complicated too,” he murmured. “But… it’s obvious you’re close.”
Will felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest. No one outside the group ever asked about Jane without prying curiosity. But Chance’s tone was gentle, like he genuinely wanted to understand.
“We are,” Will admitted, and for the first time he lifted his gaze to meet Chance’s.
Their faces were closer than he’d realized. He could see the golden flecks in Chance’s brown eyes, the faint tremble of his lips from the cold.
Chance didn’t look away. His voice dropped even lower.
“I like knowing things about you,” he said. “Real things.”
Will felt the air leave his lungs. Chance’s knee was still there, warm, and neither of them moved.
The sky was much brighter now; the first cars would arrive soon.
But in that moment, with the courtyard empty and the school still asleep, the world seemed to pause just for the two of them.
And Will thought, for the first time clearly, that maybe he didn’t want that moment to ever end.
Chance watched him a little longer, as if deciding whether to keep asking. His knee stayed there, warm against Will’s, and neither of them shifted.
“And your parents?” Chance asked at last, carefully. “I know you live with your mom and Jonathan… but people talk, you know? In this town, they always talk about the Byers, but they never explain it right. Just whisper weird stuff.”
Will felt his body stiffen. The cold morning air seemed to rush straight into his lungs. He stared at the dry leaves piled near the bench. The question wasn’t malicious—he could see that in Chance’s expression, curious but gentle—but it still hurt.
He hesitated for several seconds. Chance’s knee pressed just a little more, a silent reminder that he was there, listening.
“My dad…” Will began, softly. “He doesn’t live with us. His name is Lonnie. He left when I was little. He lives in Indianapolis now, I think. We… we hardly ever see him.”
Chance nodded slowly, not interrupting.
“And my mom… Joyce,” Will continued, swallowing. “She’s the best person I know. She works hard, takes care of all of us. But people talk because… because she’s always been different. Because she defended Jonathan when he was accused of things he didn’t do. Because she believed me when… when I disappeared that year.”
He paused. Remembering ’83 still tightened his chest.
“People said she was crazy. That she made things up. That we were ‘the weird family.’ First because of Jonathan, who was always quiet and took photos. Then because of me, because of… everything that happened, and because I was a fag. And then because of Jane, because no one understood where she came from.”
Chance listened in absolute silence. His brown eyes held no judgment—only attention.
“They never explain,” Will murmured with a bitter laugh. “They just whisper. ‘The crazy Byers.’ ‘The hysterical mother.’ ‘The zombie kid.’ Stuff like that.”
Chance pressed his lips together for a moment.
“That’s bullshit,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. “People are idiots. They talk because they don’t understand. Or because they’re afraid of what they don’t understand.”
Will looked up, startled by the intensity.
Chance met his gaze.
“My mom hears things too. For being Filipina. For having an accent sometimes. For cooking ‘weird’ food. My dad, for being the ‘eccentric professor’ who reads old books. Mia, for wearing glasses and reading all day. People always find something.”
He paused, and his knee pressed more firmly against Will’s, like support.
“But your mom sounds incredible. Believing in her kids when no one else does… that’s not madness. That’s strength.”
Will felt his eyes sting. No one outside the group had ever said something like that to him. Not even close.
“Thanks,” he murmured, barely audible.
Chance smiled softly, to the side.
“No—thank you. For telling me. For trusting me.”
The silence that followed was different. More intimate. Heavy in a way that made Will’s heart race.
Their knees were still touching. Chance’s arm brushed lightly against Will’s now, whether from the cold or something else.
Chance turned his body a little toward him, closing the distance even more.
“I don’t care what people say,” he said, his voice even lower. “I care about what I see.”
Will lifted his gaze. Their faces were so close he could feel Chance’s breath, warm against the icy air.
“And what do you see?” Will asked, almost breathless.
Chance studied him for a long moment. His eyes dipped briefly to Will’s lips, then back up.
“I see someone brave,” he said. “Someone who carries heavy things and keeps going. Someone who draws like the world depends on it. Someone who… makes me want to stay awake all night.”
Will felt the world stop.
The sky was fully light now. Any second, the first car would arrive.
But neither of them moved.
Chance’s knee pressed once more—intentional.
And Will, for the first time, pressed back.
The courtyard was still empty.
But it didn’t feel so cold anymore.
The sky was fully light now. The silence of the courtyard was almost perfect, broken only by the wind and their breathing.
Will felt like the world had stopped.
And then—a voice behind them.
“Will?”
They both jumped apart as if burned. Will turned his head so fast his neck hurt.
Mike.
He was coming up on his bike, braking hard beside the bench. His expression was a mix of worry and anger. He swung off the seat and let the bike clatter to the ground.
“What are you doing here so early?” Mike demanded, his voice tense. “You left alone. Why didn’t you wake me up? You know we’re always supposed to stick together. The whole party knows that. At least two, Will. In case Vecna—”
He stopped, breathing hard, looking from Will to the side door of the school where Chance had just disappeared—quick, silent, like a shadow—one second before Mike arrived.
Mike frowned harder.
“What were you doing with Chance?” he asked, lowering his voice but keeping an accusatory tone. “Was he bothering you? Did he say something?”
Will felt his heart pounding in his chest. He could still feel the warmth of Chance’s knee, the touch that had just been broken. He looked at Mike, searching for words that wouldn’t give anything away.
“No,” he said finally, hoarse. “We just… talked. We both got here early.”
Mike stared at him, as if trying to read his mind. He’d always been good at that.
“You talked with Chance?” Mike repeated, incredulous. “The Chance from the Tigers? The one who was with Jason and Andy when—?”
“He’s not like Jason,” Will interrupted, faster than he meant to. “Not everyone is the same.”
Mike fell silent for a second. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Just… be careful, Will. Just because someone seems nice doesn’t mean they’re a good person.”
Will nodded, looking down. The courtyard no longer felt warm.
But in his mind, Chance’s voice still echoed.
Someone who makes me want to stay awake all night.
And even with Mike there—angry and worried—Will knew that that night he would go back to the streetlight.
Because he couldn’t not go back anymore.
Chapter 4: OPEN 24 HOURS
Summary:
Do Will and Chance have their first date?
Notes:
I just watched volume 2... LIKE, WILL ENDED UP WITH A BOYFRIEND WHO WE DON'T EVEN KNOW HIS NAME OR HIS VOICE, THEY COULD HAVE AT LEAST LEFT HIM WITH A CHANCE, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN MORE INTENSE.
Chapter Text
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of classes, bells, and crowded hallways. Will barely paid attention. His mind kept drifting back to the courtyard bench, to Chance’s knee, to that last look before Mike appeared and everything shattered.
When the lunch bell rang, he sat at their usual table with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. The cafeteria noise was the same as always: trays clattering, loud laughter, the smell of reheated pizza and greasy food.
At first, everything seemed normal. Lucas talked about how Max had moved a finger that morning at the hospital—a tiny spark of hope that made them smile for the first time in days. Dustin mentioned something about trying to revive the Hellfire Club.
Mike was quieter, but he ate at an unhurried pace.
Then, suddenly, Mike put his fork down and looked straight at Will.
“Hey, Will… about this morning,” he said, lowering his voice so nearby tables wouldn’t hear. “With Chance.”
Will tensed instantly. His fork froze halfway to his mouth.
“What about it?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
Mike frowned.
“Look, I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but… I think you need to be careful. Chance is one of the Tigers. And now suddenly he’s talking to you alone, early in the morning, like it’s nothing. I don’t like it.”
Dustin and Lucas stopped talking and looked at Will too.
Heat crawled up Will’s neck.
“It wasn’t ‘sudden,’” he muttered. “We just… ran into each other.”
Mike shook his head.
“Will, you’re the most… sensitive out of all of us. You always have been. You’re the one who’s been through the most, who carries the most trauma. And the whole town knows it. What happened when you disappeared, the Upside Down, the way you feel everything more deeply than everyone else— all of that messed you up. You’re fragile in that sense, and Chance can see it. I think he’s getting close to you because he knows you’re the most vulnerable, the easiest to… I don’t know, manipulate or get information from. I don’t trust him.”
The words fell like stones.
Sensitive. Fragile. Vulnerable.
Will gripped his fork so hard his knuckles turned white.
“I’m not fragile,” he said, his voice low but shaking. “And I’m not naive.”
Mike sighed, like he was explaining something obvious to a child.
“Will, I’m not trying to insult you. It’s just the truth. You’re the kindest out of all of us, the one who always sees the best in people. And that’s good—but it also makes you naive. Chance was part of the group that chased Eddie. And now he’s talking to you. I just want you to understand that you shouldn’t trust him so easily.”
Dustin cut in, his tone sharp.
“If you think Chance is a good person after everything that happened to Eddie… then yeah, you are naive, Will. And kind of stupid, honestly. Because he was there. He didn’t stop anything. And now he says a few nice words and that’s enough for you?”
Lucas didn’t say anything, but his expression said he agreed.
Will felt his chest burn with anger and shame at the same time.
“I’m not stupid,” he said, raising his voice more than he meant to. “And I’m not a fragile little kid who needs to be protected from everything. I know exactly what happened to Eddie. I know who Jason and his group were. But I also know not everyone is the same. Chance hesitated. He regretted it. He told me himself. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Mike looked at him with concern—but also with that I warned you expression.
“Will, that’s exactly what I mean. He tells you something sad and you trust him immediately. You’re too sensitive to see when someone’s using you.”
The word sensitive was the last straw.
Will stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. Several heads turned from nearby tables.
“I don’t need to be called fragile, sensitive, or naive for talking to someone who actually listens to me,” he said sharply. “And I don’t need to be called stupid for believing people can change.”
He grabbed his tray and walked away without looking back.
He moved quickly through the cafeteria, his heart pounding in his ears, his cheeks burning. He didn’t know where he was going—he just needed to get out.
In the hallway, he leaned his back against the lockers and closed his eyes.
His friends’ words hurt. A lot.
Because part of him had always feared they were right: that he was too sensitive, too fragile, too easy to break.
But with Chance, he didn’t feel that way.
With Chance, he felt seen. Heard. Strong, even.
From the Tigers’ table at the back of the cafeteria, Chance barely touched his food.
Andy was talking about some past game, repeating the same story for the third time. The others laughed out of politeness. Chance nodded occasionally, but his eyes were fixed on the table across the room—Will’s table. Wheeler. Henderson. Sinclair.
He saw the conversation shift. Saw Wheeler grow serious, Henderson lean forward with a hard expression. Saw Will tense, saw him grip his fork, saw his face go from calm to red with anger in seconds.
When Will suddenly stood up and left with his tray, Chance felt a pull in his chest. Will’s eyes shone too brightly—it wasn’t just anger. It was pain.
Andy kept talking, but Chance wasn’t listening anymore.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said abruptly, standing up without waiting for a response.
He crossed the cafeteria quickly, weaving between tables and chairs, not looking back.
In the main hallway, he found him.
Will was leaning against the lockers, his back turned, arms crossed tightly over his chest, head lowered. He was breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. His shoulders trembled slightly.
Chance stepped loudly on purpose as he approached, not wanting to startle him.
Will turned quickly, his eyes still red.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone right now,” he started, his voice rough and sharp.
But when he saw Chance, the sentence died halfway.
He stared at him, surprised, mouth slightly open. He’d clearly expected Mike or Dustin.
Chance stopped a few steps away, hands in his pockets, voice low and careful.
“Hey,” he said. “I just wanted to check if you’re okay.”
Will swallowed, looking away for a second.
“Did you follow me?”
“I saw you leave like that,” Chance said with a shrug. “And… I heard you arguing with your friends. I didn’t catch everything, but it sounded bad.”
Will let out a bitter, humorless laugh and ran a hand over his face.
“It was just… a small disagreement,” he muttered, not wanting to explain. “Stuff between us.”
Chance nodded slowly. He didn’t push. He stepped a little closer—close enough for Will to feel his presence without feeling cornered.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Chance said softly. “But if you need air, or a distraction… I’m here.”
Will finally looked at him. His eyes still shone, but the anger had faded into something more tired. More vulnerable.
“I’m not used to someone… doing that,” he admitted quietly.
Chance smiled slightly, without teasing.
“Then get used to it,” he said. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
The hallway was empty. Just the two of them, the distant cafeteria noise reduced to a faint murmur.
Will took a deep breath, and for the first time since leaving the table, his shoulders relaxed a little.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
Chance lingered for another second, as if wanting to say more, but in the end he just nodded.
“See you later, yeah?” he said with a small smile.
Will nodded back.
“See you.”
Chance turned and walked away, leaving Will alone again against the lockers.
But this time, the loneliness didn’t feel as heavy.
Because he knew that night, under the streetlight, he wouldn’t truly be alone.
Will left the basement with anger still clinging to his skin. Jonathan wasn’t home again.
The entire day had been an effort: avoiding Mike’s worried looks, answering Dustin in monosyllables, pretending Lucas didn’t notice anything. Living under the same roof as Mike when you didn’t want to see him was exhausting. Every step on the stairs felt like a reminder of the cafeteria argument.
The early-morning air was freezing, but it felt good. He walked quickly through the neighborhood, hands shoved into the pockets of the sweater Joyce had knitted years ago—big, comfortable, with a slightly crooked reindeer on the chest. He wore an old shirt, pajama pants, and worn sneakers. He hadn’t bothered to change. He wasn’t expecting anyone to see him.
He reached the usual streetlight.
But Chance wasn’t sitting on the curb.
Instead, he was leaning against the door of his blue pickup truck, parked directly under the yellow light. When he saw Will, he straightened immediately, a wide, enthusiastic—almost nervous—smile lighting up his face.
“Hey,” he greeted, lifting a hand. “I was waiting for you.”
Will stopped a few feet away. Now that he could really see him, Chance looked… different. Better dressed than on previous nights: dark jeans that fit perfectly, a fitted black T-shirt under an open denim jacket, and the round glasses he only wore at night. His hair was styled with a bit more care. Simple—but handsome. Very handsome.
Will felt his stomach flip.
“What… what’s going on?” he asked, his voice rougher than he meant. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Chance scratched the back of his neck, glancing away for a second.
“I saw you were sad today in the cafeteria,” he said. “When you left the table. I thought… maybe you could use a break. Something to eat. Something to cheer you up.”
Will blinked.
“At this hour?”
Chance gestured toward the truck with his head, trying to sound casual despite his nerves.
“I know a diner in the city that’s open 24 hours. Best milkshakes and fries in the county. If you want… we could go. Only if you want, of course.”
Will stood still, his heart pounding.
It was early Saturday morning. Everyone at home would be asleep for hours. No one would notice he was gone for a bit.
Still, fear crept in—fear of being found out, fear of getting into a truck with someone he’d only known for three nights, fear of going somewhere unfamiliar, alone.
And then he realized that fear was small compared to something else he felt: excitement.
He wondered if this was how Nancy had felt sneaking out of her house, coming to the Byers’, climbing through Jonathan’s window to spend the night together, believing neither Joyce nor Will would notice… or now, when Jonathan quietly climbed the stairs to her room. That forbidden thrill, that sweet adrenaline.
But then Mike and Dustin’s words echoed in his head.
Too sensitive. Naive. Fragile. Chance is just manipulating you.
Will swallowed. He looked Chance straight in the eyes, his voice trembling but steady.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Why me? You barely know me. Three nights ago we didn’t even talk. And I… I have rumors. The whole town talks about me. The ‘zombie boy.’ Why do you bother?”
Chance fell silent. His enthusiasm dimmed slightly. He looked down at the ground, and for the first time Will saw real pain in his expression.
“I didn’t… plan it,” he said finally, his voice low. “It just happened. That first night I saw you walking and… I don’t know. I got curious. Everyone talks about the ‘zombie boy,’ the kid who disappeared, the one who came back changed. But when I saw you up close… I just saw a boy with brown eyes who looked like he was carrying too much. Quiet. Like a deer ready to bolt at any moment.”
He looked up again, his brown eyes shining under the streetlight.
“And I wanted to keep seeing those eyes,” he admitted, almost in a whisper. “I can’t explain it better than that. It’s not pity. Not rumors. Nothing weird. I just… wanted to really know you.”
He paused, then stepped back toward the truck, as if giving up.
“But if you don’t want me around, I get it. I won’t bother you. I promise.”
He took another step back, opening the driver’s door.
Will felt a knot tighten in his throat.
Maybe his friends were right. Maybe he was naive, always looking for the best in people.
But when he saw the genuine hurt in Chance’s eyes—the same hurt he’d felt so many times himself—he couldn’t let him go.
“Wait,” he said, softly but clearly.
Chance stopped, one hand on the door, watching him cautiously.
Will took a deep breath.
“Let’s go,” he said. “To the diner. I’m hungry.”
The smile Chance gave him then was small, but real—bright as the streetlight above them.
“Get in,” he said, walking around to open the passenger door.
Will climbed in. The interior smelled like old leather and something sweet, like vanilla.
Chance started the engine. The truck rumbled softly as they pulled away from the neighborhood, heading toward the highway.
Will watched the sleeping houses pass by through the window.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was heading toward something good.
Not danger.
Something that could be his.
Will watched the scenery slide past the window, streetlights streaking across the glass. The truck was a small, enclosed space, and having Chance so close—less than a meter away, one arm resting on the steering wheel, his profile lit by the dashboard—kept Will in a constant state of nerves. A light shiver ran down his spine every few minutes, as if the AC were too high, even though it was off.
Chance hadn’t spoken much since leaving Hawkins. Just occasional comments about the road or the cold. He seemed focused on driving, but Will noticed how he glanced at him from time to time.
Suddenly, Chance broke the silence.
“Want to put on some music?” he asked, nodding toward the glove compartment. “Whatever you want. I’ve got tapes in there.”
Will nodded, grateful to have something to do with his hands. He opened the compartment and flipped through them: Bruce Springsteen, The Police, some Queen, a bit of metal that was probably Andy’s… and then a handwritten tape with lettering he didn’t recognize.
“And this one?” he asked, holding it up.
Chance glanced over and smiled, a little shy.
“Oh… those are songs in Tagalog. Filipino. You wouldn’t understand them—they’re my mom’s. But if you want…”
Will shrugged.
“Put it on.”
Chance took the tape, slid it into the cassette player, and pressed play.
A soft melody filled the truck: acoustic guitar, a warm female voice, words that sounded exotic and sweet at the same time. Will didn’t understand a single word, but he liked it. It was calm, nostalgic, like it spoke of something loved and lost.
“It’s called Kahit Maputi Na Ang Buhok Ko,” Chance said quietly. “It means something like ‘even when my hair turns white.’ It’s about love that lasts a lifetime.”
Will glanced at him.
“It’s beautiful.”
Chance smiled, eyes still on the road.
“My mom sings it when she cooks. It reminds me of home.”
The rest of the drive passed like that: music in an unfamiliar language, comfortable silence between songs, and Will’s heart beating a little slower.
When they reached the diner—a small, brightly lit place on the roadside with a neon sign blinking OPEN 24 HOURS—Chance parked near the entrance.
They stepped out. The city air felt different: colder, smelling of asphalt and fried food.
Chance went in first, pushing the door with its jingling bell. A middle-aged woman with an apron and deep circles under her eyes stood behind the counter, wiping mugs. When she saw Chance, she looked up and smiled tiredly.
“Hey, kid,” she said. “Thought you weren’t coming this week.”
“Hi, Rosa,” Chance replied easily. “I brought company tonight.”
The woman looked Will up and down without hiding it. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. It was clear she wasn’t used to seeing Chance arrive with someone—especially not at three in the morning.
Will felt the ground wobble beneath his feet.
He was wearing Joyce’s oversized sweater with the crooked reindeer, pajama pants tucked into sneakers, hair messy and uncombed. He’d never been in Indianapolis without his mom, or Jonathan, or—when he was little—Lonnie. This place was big and unfamiliar, and he felt ridiculous, out of place, like everyone could tell he didn’t belong.
Chance noticed. He brushed Will’s elbow lightly with his fingers.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Best spot’s by the window.”
He guided him to a booth in the back, away from the door. Rosa brought two menus without asking, just a “the usual for you, honey?” to Chance and a curious look at Will.
Will sat across from him, gripping the menu like a shield.
“You didn’t have to bring me here,” he murmured. “I feel… weird dressed like this.”
Chance looked at him over his menu with that small smile that was already becoming familiar.
“You’re perfect,” he said. “And Rosa’s seen me worse. Trust me.”
Warmth crept up Will’s cheeks. He looked down at the menu, barely reading it.
“Do you come here a lot?” he asked.
“When I can’t sleep,” Chance admitted. “Or when I need to think. It’s quiet at this hour. And the chocolate milkshakes are the best you’ll ever have.”
Will smiled faintly.
“Okay. Chocolate, then.”
Chance signaled Rosa and ordered two chocolate milkshakes, a large plate of fries to share, and a slice of apple pie “just because.”
When she walked away, the silence returned—but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the good kind.
Will looked at Chance across the table.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “For… this. For bringing me here.”
Chance shrugged, but his eyes were serious.
“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you smile again.”
And Will did. For the first time that night.
Truly.
They sat there for a moment, facing each other, menus still open between them like an unnecessary barrier.
Chance spoke first.
“So… what do you want to do after you graduate?” he asked, playing with the corner of the menu. “Work? College? Or are you going to run off to New York, become a famous artist, and leave me here bored?”
Will blinked, surprised. No one had asked him that in a long time—not even himself.
“I… I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I never really thought about it. My life’s been… shaken up so many times that I just focused on the present. On surviving the day.”
Chance nodded slowly, without judgment.
“But if you had to choose something… what would it be? Come on, Byers. Surprise me.”
Will shrugged, staring at the table.
“Maybe art. Creating something. Cartoons, comics… or stuff for games. Like D&D, but drawn. I don’t know. It sounds stupid.”
Chance leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“Stupid? That sounds amazing. Imagine: Created by Will Byers. I’d buy the first copy. And I’d ask for an autograph… right here,” he said, pointing to his chest with a teasing smile.
Will looked at him, expecting mockery—but there was none.
“And you?” Will asked.
Chance let out a short laugh.
“I’m not sure about anything. I like sports, but just as a hobby. My parents say not to worry, that I’ve got time… but it’s embarrassing when everyone talks about their dreams and I’m just trying not to fail math.”
Will laughed softly.
“At least you don’t have to draw dragons to escape reality.”
“Touché,” Chance said, winking. “But if you ever make a game, I want to be the main character. The hot one, obviously.”
Will raised an eyebrow.
“The one who dies in the first level?”
Chance clutched his chest dramatically.
“Cruel, Byers. Very cruel.”
The silence that followed was light, filled with half-smiles.
Will felt like he needed to ask something else.
“Do you… have any fears?” he asked.
Chance smirked.
“You first, brave one.”
Will took a deep breath.
“I’m afraid of losing the people I love,” he admitted. “Either to outside things… or because they drift away from me. I don’t want to be alone.”
Chance went quiet for a moment. His eyes softened.
“After that, my fear sounds stupid.”
“Say it anyway,” Will said. “I talked.”
Chance looked down, embarrassed.
“I’m afraid of rabbits.”
Will blinked.
“Rabbits?”
Chance nodded, not looking up.
“When I was a kid, I got two white rabbits. A male and a female. I loved them. I pet them all day, picked them up… My parents say one day I bothered the female too much—she was in heat, I think—and both of them went crazy. They started biting and scratching me. I ran around the yard screaming. I ended up hanging from a low branch while they jumped, trying to reach me. My dad came out with a towel and chased them away. To this day… I feel like if I touch one, I’ll lose a finger.”
Will stared at him.
And then he laughed.
He laughed harder than he had in months—maybe years. A real laugh, loud and uncontrollable, bursting from his chest and filling his eyes with tears. He covered his mouth, but he couldn’t stop.
Chance looked offended at first—then started laughing too.
“It’s not that funny!” he protested between laughs.
“It’s… it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” Will said, still laughing.
Just then, Rosa returned with their order: two tall chocolate milkshakes, a massive plate of crispy fries, and a warm slice of apple pie.
She set everything down and looked at the two laughing boys.
“Have a nice late-night date, lovebirds,” she said dryly, raising an eyebrow.
Chance and Will froze.
“It’s not a date!” they said in unison, way too fast.
Rosa raised her other eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, and walked away.
They looked at each other for a second—then laughed again, quieter this time.
They ate without talking much after that, sharing fries, stealing sips of each other’s milkshakes “just to taste.” Will felt light, as if the weight of the day had stayed behind in Hawkins.
“Hey,” Chance said suddenly, wiping a drop of chocolate from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “This milkshake is better with you here.”
Will rolled his eyes, but smiled.
“You’re cheesy. I’m sure you say that to everyone.”
When they finished, Chance paid. Will hadn’t brought any money; he told Chance he’d pay him back, but they eventually agreed it was fine—Chance insisted.
They stepped back into the cold early-morning air and got into the truck in silence. The drive back was calm, the same Filipino tape playing softly.
Chance stopped the truck a few houses away from the Wheelers’, so the engine wouldn’t be heard.
Will got out, closing the door carefully.
“We should do this again sometime,” he said quietly. “It was fun.”
Chance smiled from the driver’s seat, the streetlight illuminating his face.
“Yeah,” he said teasingly. “I liked the date.”
Will raised an eyebrow to play along.
“Next time, a fancy restaurant then.”
Chance laughed.
“You’re pretty demanding for a Byers,” he joked.
Will feigned offense.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Chance said, lifting his hands in surrender.
They said goodbye with an awkward but warm “see you.”
Will had already started to leave when he ran back to Chance’s open window.
“Hey,” he said, slightly out of breath. “Next time, tell me if we’re going somewhere. Even if my family isn’t rich, I know how to dress. My mom taught me manners.”
Chance laughed, low and genuine.
“Sorry. Next time I’ll warn you. And you can pick the place—so long as it’s not too expensive for my part-time job budget.”
Will smiled, nodded, and finally left.
He slipped quietly into the basement. Jonathan wasn’t there—probably upstairs with Nancy.
He lay down on the mattress, the taste of chocolate still on his tongue, his heart beating calmly.
The first rays of sunlight crept through the small window.
He fell asleep with the taste of chocolate and laughter lingering on his lips.
And Will drifted off with a huge smile on his face.
Chapter 5: The Romanillos house.
Summary:
Will goes to Chance's house.
Notes:
I gave Chance and his family the last name of his actor, Hunter Romanillos.
Chapter Text
Holly burst into the basement like a tiny hurricane, jumping straight onto Will’s mattress.
“Will! Wake up! Mom made pancakes and bacon, and she says if you don’t come up right now, my dad’s going to eat them all!”
Will groaned, burying his face under the pillow. His body felt like lead. He’d gotten home when the sky was barely beginning to lighten, sometime between five and six in the morning. He’d slept maybe three or four hours at most, and it showed.
But he couldn’t snub Karen Wheeler after everything she and her family were doing for them.
“I’m coming…” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
He got up unsteadily, ran his hands through his messy hair, and pulled on Joyce’s oversized sweater with the crooked reindeer over his sleep shirt. He climbed the stairs slowly, as if every step took an enormous effort.
Almost everyone was already in the dining room: Karen handing out steaming pancakes, Ted with his newspaper and coffee, Nancy helping with the plates, Jonathan with dark circles under his eyes but a restrained smile, Joyce pouring syrup and juice, Mike sitting at the far end with the face of someone who’d had a terrible night, and Holly bouncing in her chair.
“Morning,” Will said, rubbing one eye as he sat down.
Everyone replied in a mixed chorus. Mike only glanced up for a second, muttered something inaudible, and went back to his plate. Will barely reacted. At that moment, Mike’s anger slid right off him.
Joyce set a full plate in front of him and looked at him with that all-seeing motherly look.
“Didn’t sleep well, sweetheart? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Will shook his head, stabbing a pancake with his fork.
“Not much.”
Joyce sat down beside him, lowering her voice.
“Insomnia again? Or… something else?”
Will cut a piece of pancake, and without meaning to, his mind flew straight back to the early morning: the blue truck, the Filipino music, the laughter about rabbits, the joke about the “date,” the way Chance had said yeah, I liked the date with his cheeks all flushed.
A stupid, bright smile escaped him on its own. His eyes lit up like someone had flipped a switch inside him.
A curious silence fell over the table.
Joyce raised an eyebrow, amused and surprised.
Jonathan froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.
Nancy smiled faintly, like she already knew something.
Holly tilted her head.
Even Ted lowered his newspaper for a second.
Mike frowned, staring at Will like he didn’t recognize him.
“What’s going on?” Joyce asked, a mix of concern and tenderness in her voice. “That look… it’s like you’re remembering something very, very good.”
Will blushed all the way to his ears. He dropped his gaze to his plate as if the pancakes were the most interesting thing in the world.
“Nothing… I was just thinking about some drawings I made last night when I couldn’t sleep,” he lied—though it was half true.
(He didn’t mention that lately, almost every page of his sketchbook was filled with a boy with brown eyes, a mischievous smile, and round glasses.)
Jonathan cleared his throat, clearly wanting to know more.
Nancy bit back a smile.
Joyce didn’t fully buy it, but let it go.
To expertly divert attention, Will raised an eyebrow at Jonathan with a mischievous smile.
“And you, Jonathan… did you sleep well?” he asked innocently. “Because last night I didn’t hear you snoring as much as usual. Almost like you… weren’t in the basement.”
Jonathan choked on his coffee.
Nancy turned red as a tomato and suddenly found her plate very interesting.
Joyce let out a low laugh behind her mug.
Karen fake-coughed to hide her smile.
Ted kept reading his newspaper, oblivious.
Holly, with complete innocence, asked:
“Did Jonathan sleep with you again, Nancy?”
The table exploded into muffled laughter, coughing, knowing looks, and a loud “Holly!” from Nancy.
Mike rolled his eyes, but even he smiled for a second before going back to his serious face.
Will laughed inwardly, relieved that the spotlight was no longer on him.
But in his mind, the smile remained—for a completely different reason.
One that smelled like chocolate milkshake and was afraid of rabbits.
Later, after breakfast and once the table slowly emptied, Karen appeared at the basement door with her kind smile.
“Will, honey, would you mind walking Holly over to her friend Mia’s house?” she asked. “Mike’s in a terrible mood today and doesn’t want to move, and Nancy went out with Jonathan to who-knows-where. I don’t want Holly biking alone.”
Will, still half-asleep on the mattress, nodded without thinking too much.
“Of course, Mrs. Wheeler.”
Holly bounced with excitement and was ready with her little backpack in five minutes.
They both went out on their bikes through the neighborhood. The October sun was mild, but the air was still cool. They passed one of the giant cracks from last year’s “earthquake”: now all of them were covered with large welded metal plates, guarded by soldiers in uniforms that looked far too new for Hawkins.
Will pressed his lips together at the sight. The military had arrived “to help” with reconstruction, but no one in the group really believed that. Rumors said they’d soon put a perimeter around the town: total quarantine. No one in, no one out without special permission.
Holly pedaled ahead, humming, oblivious to everything.
They arrived at a nice house, almost as big as the Wheelers’: neat garden, fresh paint, a porch swing. Will stopped behind Holly.
The friend’s name—Mia—sounded familiar from when Karen had mentioned it, but he couldn’t remember why.
Holly jumped off her bike and ran to the front door, ringing the bell enthusiastically.
Will stayed back, ready to leave as soon as he saw Holly go inside.
The door opened.
And Will froze.
It was Chance.
He was wearing his round glasses, a black cropped T-shirt that showed a strip of smooth, flat brown skin at his stomach—the faint outline of abs, the dark line running down from his navel. Loose shorts hung low on his hips, revealing strong, defined basketball-player legs: firm thighs, sculpted calves, smooth skin glowing in the porch light. He was barefoot, and when he crossed his arms, his toned biceps and forearms were visible, faint veins showing from training.
Relaxed. At home.
And handsome in a way that made Will’s stomach twist.
“Holly!” Chance greeted with a genuine smile, crouching to ruffle her hair. “Perfect timing.”
Then he looked up and saw Will.
His eyes widened slightly in surprise, then a smaller, warm smile appeared.
“Mia! Holly’s here!” he called inside, never taking his eyes off Will.
Holly turned to Will.
“Will brought me! He’s my friend. He draws really well and helped me with my drawings!”
Mia came running out, and the two girls hugged, disappearing inside in a burst of laughter.
Chance leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms naturally. The movement lifted his shirt a little, but it didn’t seem intentional.
“Do you want to come in?” he asked, his voice low and calm. “The girls are going to be playing for a while. You can wait inside if you want.”
Will felt heat rise to his cheeks as he noticed—again—the strong legs, the relaxed but defined arms. He looked away toward the garden for a second.
“I don’t know… I just came to drop Holly off,” he said, though his voice came out softer than planned.
Chance smiled faintly.
“There’s cold juice inside. Or Coke. I’m not forcing you, but…” he added louder at the end, “…it’d be nice to have company that isn’t five years old.”
Will heard the girls shout that they were not five.
Will looked at the house, then back at Chance. The surprise still lingered, but so did that familiar early-morning excitement.
“Okay,” he said at last, getting off his bike. “Just for a bit.”
Chance opened the door wider, letting Will in.
As he entered, their shoulders brushed lightly. The brief warmth was enough to send a shiver through Will.
“Welcome,” Chance said, closing the door behind him. “My house is your house.”
Will smiled nervously, looking around.
The day had just taken an unexpected turn.
And for some reason, he didn’t mind at all.
Chapter 6: Confessions under the towel
Summary:
Will is going to return Chance's red shorts, but ends up in his room, wearing more of Chance's clothes.
Notes:
You know what? For me, Will's epilogue boyfriend is Chance, he looks similar enough. And since they didn't even tell us his name...
Chapter Text
The silence in the Wheeler house was so thick it could be cut with a knife.
Everyone was looking Will up and down. The short red shorts, the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his body, his bare legs, Joyce’s sweater clutched in his hand like a useless shield.
Mike was the first to speak, his voice dry and full of suspicion.
“Where did you get those shorts, Will?”
Will felt his face burn so badly he almost expected his skin to melt.
“Uh… they… they lent them to me,” he stammered, staring at the floor as if salvation were written there. “I was teaching Holly and Mia how to paint and draw, and… I got my clothes covered in paint. Pink. A lot of pink paint. So… they lent me these while mine were being washed.”
Silence again.
Everyone—absolutely everyone—turned to look at Holly like it was a tennis match.
Holly, who had gone to the kitchen at some point, froze with a pancake halfway to her mouth. She swallowed. Looked at Will. Looked at her family. Looked back at Will.
And then, bless her ten-year-old soul, she understood she had to back him up.
“Y-yes…” she stammered at first, eyes wide. “We were fighting over the color pink! Mia and I. And… and we accidentally threw it all over Will. All of it! A lot of pink! And he got completely stained. That’s why they lent him the shorts.”
She finished with an enormous, painfully fake smile, showing all her teeth.
Karen blinked.
Joyce blinked more slowly, like she was processing.
Nancy let out a stifled giggle and covered it with a cough.
Jonathan bit his lip so hard he almost drew blood.
Ted kept watching TV.
Mike narrowed his eyes.
“Pink paint?” he repeated skeptically. “Seriously?”
Will nodded with way too much enthusiasm.
“Yes. A lot. And… I forgot to ask for my pants back. They probably stayed at Mia’s house.”
Holly nodded like a spring-loaded toy.
“Yes! They stayed there! For sure!”
Mike opened his mouth to say more, but Joyce gently raised a hand.
“It’s fine, sweetheart,” she said in a maternal voice, one eyebrow lifted in a way that clearly meant we’ll talk later. “Go change before you catch a cold.”
Will didn’t wait even half a second.
He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, his heart pounding like he’d just run a marathon.
He burst into the basement, shut the door, and collapsed against it, breathing like he’d escaped a demogorgon.
The pink paint excuse had been the first thing that came to mind. Ridiculous. Obvious. But Holly had backed him up with that huge fake smile, and by some miracle, no one had pushed too hard.
Yet.
He yanked Joyce’s sweater off and tossed it onto the mattress. Then, hands trembling slightly, he pulled off Chance’s red shorts.
He stood there in his underwear for a moment, staring at the red fabric in his hands.
They were short, tight, a bright red that stood out too much. On Chance they fit perfectly—sporty, normal, or at least that’s how Will imagined them. On him… they had looked different. More exposed.
He remembered the bike ride back: the neighborhood streets, people in their yards, a car passing by. Had anyone seen him? Some nosy neighbor? A kid from school?
His stomach twisted.
In Hawkins, people already talked. “The zombie boy.” “The weird Byers kid.” “Faggot,” they’d whispered or shouted at him in the hallways since he was little—for being quiet, for drawing, for not being like other boys.
If someone had seen him in those short red borrowed shorts…
That would be “proof.”
Shame hit him all at once, like he’d done something wrong just by existing. For having spent the afternoon with Chance. For laughing. For feeling good—alive—desired.
He folded the shorts carefully, as if they were fragile, and put them in his backpack under his clothes.
He couldn’t leave them there. He had to return them.
That night.
When everyone was asleep.
Because even though the shame burned inside him, the memory of the afternoon—Chance sweaty and smiling, his compliments, the way he had looked at him—was stronger.
And Will knew he would risk it again.
No matter the cost.
No matter the pain.
Because for the first time, being seen didn’t feel like a crime.
Will stood in the basement for a while, still holding the red shorts, feeling the embarrassment burn through him. He stayed in his underwear, staring at the red fabric like it was something dangerous. He folded it carefully and stuffed it into his backpack.
He felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like he’d done something wrong just by having had a happy afternoon.
He had accepted long ago that he liked boys—the painting for Mike, the confession using Jane as a shield, the pain of knowing Mike would never look at him the same. He thought he had it under control. He no longer felt that jolt or heat when Mike was near. He’d learned to live with it.
But now, to his frustration, he realized it was all back again… with Chance.
The same knot in his stomach. The same heat in his face. The same urge to look and not be able to look away.
He dropped onto the mattress, still in his underwear, and covered his face with his hands.
The basement door opened slowly.
Will sat up quickly, grabbing the blanket to cover his legs.
It was Joyce.
She stepped in softly, as always, with that expression that saw everything without judgment.
“Hi, honey,” she said quietly. “Can I sit?”
Will nodded, still red-faced.
Joyce sat on the edge of the mattress, looking at him with that mix of concern and love only a mother has.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I’m not stupid, Will. I don’t fully believe the pink paint story. If something’s going on, you can tell me. You know I’ll help however I can.”
Will took a deep breath. Looked at his mother. Joyce had always believed him when no one else did. When he disappeared. When he came back changed. When everyone said he was dead, she kept going.
“I… made a new friend,” he finally said softly.
Joyce smiled, genuinely.
“That makes me very happy, sweetheart.”
Will looked down.
“We became friends at school,” he lied, because he wasn’t about to say they’d met sneaking out at night. “It’s Chance. From the basketball team. Mia’s older brother—Holly’s friend.”
Joyce nodded slowly.
“Oh… one of the Tigers.”
Will nodded.
“He was with Jason when… what happened with Eddie and Chrissy. He didn’t stop anything. But he wasn’t the worst either. He told me how he felt. Chrissy was really his friend. She was killed horribly. He was furious. He wanted revenge. I… I understand that. If someone did something like that to Max or Jane, I don’t know if I wouldn’t want the same.”
Joyce looked at him tenderly.
“Mike and Dustin think he just wants to get close to hurt me,” Will continued. “That I’m naive for trusting him. But I don’t think so. He… listens to me. He understands me.”
Joyce took his hand.
“You’ve always been a good boy, Will,” she said. “You rarely hate anyone. You don’t rot with resentment. But you’re not stupid either. You know how to walk away from people who hurt you. If you believe this boy is good… I believe you.”
Will felt his eyes sting.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Joyce smiled, then glanced at the backpack where a bit of red fabric peeked out.
“And… what does Chance have to do with the shorts?” she asked gently.
Will blushed again.
“Holly went to play at Mia’s house today and… we ended up playing basketball in the driveway. He lent me the shorts so I’d be more comfortable.”
Joyce raised an amused eyebrow.
“And was he the one who picked such… short ones?”
Will laughed, embarrassed.
“They were the first ones he found. I thought they’d fit me like they did two years ago. I’ve… grown a bit.”
Joyce chuckled softly and hugged him.
“My baby’s all grown up,” she said, kissing his forehead. “Just be careful, okay? And if you ever want to bring him home… I’d be happy to meet this famous Chance.”
Will laughed, hiding his face against her shoulder.
“Maybe,” he murmured.
Joyce stood and gave him one last kiss on the head.
“Get some rest. And don’t worry so much. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Will blushed again, burying his face in the pillow for a moment.
“Maybe,” he murmured. “But… I’d rather wait until we’re done fixing our house.”
Joyce raised a curious eyebrow.
“Why?”
Will sighed, staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t want to bring him here… knowing Mike will be under the same roof. Not now. Not with how things are.”
Joyce nodded slowly, without judgment, and sat back down for a moment.
“I understand, sweetheart,” she said softly. “Mike worries about you. He always has. But he’s stubborn, and sometimes he confuses protecting with controlling. Give him time. And give him time to see what you see.”
Will felt a lump in his throat.
“And if he never sees it?”
Joyce squeezed his hand.
“Then you’ll have to decide what matters most to you. But whatever it is, I’ll be here. Always.”
She kissed his forehead again and left the basement, closing the door softly.
Will stayed there, the blanket over his legs, feeling the weight lift just a little.
Because for the first time, someone knew part of the truth.
And hadn’t judged him.
That night, when the house was asleep, he would return the shorts.
And see Chance again.
Maybe one day, when they had their own house again, he could bring him over without fear.
But for now, midnight and secrets were enough.
Will left with more care than ever that night.
Jonathan had stayed to sleep on the basement couch this time—probably after spending the afternoon with Nancy—so he had to move like a shadow. He waited until Jonathan's snores were steady and deep, a familiar rhythm that filled the basement like a broken clock. He rose slowly from the mattress, avoiding the spring creaking under his weight. He dressed carefully: dark pants that whispered against his skin, a simple shirt that clung a little from the nervous sweat of anticipation, a jacket for the cold that smelled of lavender from Joyce's closet, sneakers that made no noise on the wooden floor. He slipped the clean, folded red shorts into the jacket pocket—he'd washed them by hand in the basement sink, scrubbing every stain of sweat and dirt with cold water and soap until they were spotless, the cheap detergent scent still fresh on the fabric.
He opened the back door millimeter by millimeter, holding his breath every time the wood groaned slightly, like a secret slipping out. The night air hit him immediately: cold, damp, with that piercing smell of wet earth and rotting leaves that always followed midnight. He walked carefully, trying to make his footsteps as silent as possible, stepping on the edges to avoid noise, feeling the cold ground under his soles. He pushed the bike through the side yard, between the shadows of the bushes that brushed his legs with wet, cold leaves, until he reached the street. Only then did he mount it and start pedaling slowly, his heart pounding hard in his chest, each pedal stroke a muffled echo in the silent night.
The air whipped his face, icy and sharp, filling his lungs with that deep autumn smell: distant chimney smoke, turned earth, the faint sweetness of fallen leaves. It was almost 1 a.m. He didn't know if Chance would be at the streetlamp. It was early Sunday morning; maybe Chance slept in on Sundays to catch up on lost hours. He'd never asked him.
But it didn't matter. If he wasn't there, he'd go straight to his house.
He pedaled through the sleeping neighborhood, the dark houses like silhouettes against the starry sky, some window lit by the faint glow of insomnia. He reached the usual spot. The streetlamp illuminated the empty sidewalk, a solitary yellow circle in the darkness, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers over the cracked asphalt.
He sat on the curb, hugging his knees to fight the cold that seeped into his bones through the jacket. He waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Half an hour. Time dragged, every second filled with doubts: the wind blowing softly, moving the dry leaves across the sidewalk with a faint scrape, like whispers from ghosts. The cold numbed his hands, his breath coming out in white clouds.
Finally, he sighed and stood up. He couldn't wait any longer. He got on the bike and pedaled to the Romanillos' house, the familiar route now filled with nerves, each pedal turn a step closer to the unknown, the wind whipping his face and making his eyes water.
The house was dark, only the porch light on like a solitary candle, casting a warm glow over the tidy yard. Will leaned the bike against a tree in the yard, out of sight, and approached slowly to the second-floor window he remembered was Chance's, his heart pounding in his ears like a distant drum.
He picked up some small pebbles from the driveway, smooth and cold in his hand. He looked around: the neighborhood slept, no cars on the street, just the wind whispering in the trees, making the branches move like living shadows. He tossed one gently against the glass. The sound was a soft "tic," like a branch snapping in the quiet.
Nothing.
He tossed another, a little harder, his heart racing with each throw.
The window opened suddenly, creaking a bit in the silence.
Chance leaned out, shirtless, his bare torso gleaming under the moonlight, tan skin taut from the sudden cold, hair tousled and eyes squinted from sleep. He looked confused, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand, his arm flexed showing the muscles at rest.
"Will?" he asked, voice hoarse and sleepy, as if the words were dragging. "What... what are you doing here?"
Will raised his hand with the folded shorts, feeling immediate guilt for waking him, for pulling him out of bed at this hour.
"I forgot my pants... and I wanted to return these to you."
Chance blinked a couple of times, processing, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Then he let out a low, still-sleepy laugh that echoed softly in the silence.
"You're just looking for an excuse to see me," he said, voice playful but with an undertone of warmth that made Will feel a heat in his chest. "Wait, I'm coming down."
He disappeared from the window, and Will waited on the porch, nervous, glancing at the street in case a neighbor turned on a light, the cold seeping through his jacket.
The door opened slowly. Chance stepped out, still looking freshly woken: gray sleep pants hanging low on his hips, an old t-shirt he'd thrown on quickly, slippers dragging a bit on the porch, no glasses. He yawned, scratching the back of his neck with a slow motion, his arm flexing subtly.
Will felt even more guilt seeing him like that, vulnerable and drowsy, with swollen eyes and a still-groggy voice.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want to wake you. I didn't know if you'd come to the streetlamp and..."
Chance shook his head, smiling.
"It's okay. Sundays are for sleeping all day and catching up on lost sleep. But... I'm glad you came."
He took the shorts from Will's hand and gave him the folded pajama pants.
"Why the rush?" he asked, curious, leaning forward a bit, the scent of sleep and warm skin reaching Will.
Will sighed and told him everything: the arrival with Holly, Mike's question, the ridiculous pink paint excuse, everyone's faces.
Chance listened seriously, then let out a laugh.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry if Mike got more upset because of me."
Will shook his head.
"Lately he's mad at everyone. I think... he misses Jane. He doesn't see her as much as he wants."
Chance nodded.
"I get it. If your sister is anything like you... it'd drive me crazy." He paused, looking at him. "No wonder Mike's like that."
Will felt heat in his face, but he smiled.
They stood in silence for a second. Will decided it was time to go.
But when he stepped back, he misstepped on the dew-wet grass.
He slipped, his foot sliding like on ice.
Chance reacted fast: he reached out to catch him by the waist, his arm wrapping around him.
But the momentum was too much. He lost his balance too.
They both fell to the ground with a dull thud and a muffled "oof!"
The grass was wet and cold. They got covered in dirt and grass.
Will propped himself up a bit, worried.
"Are you okay?"
Chance laughed beneath him.
"Yeah... but you always find ways to make me fall for you, Byers."
Will realized then the position: Chance underneath, him on top, face to face, inches apart. Hip against hip, chest against chest, breaths mingling.
Chance's body was warm, firm against his. Will felt every point of contact: the heat of his skin through the t-shirt, the rapid beat of his heart, the warm breath against his cheek.
Chance looked at him, dark eyes fixed on his. He moved closer a little, slowly, as if asking permission. Their noses brushed. The world shrank to that space between them.
Will felt time slow down. His heart pounded so hard that Chance must have felt it.
And then... a light turned on the neighbor's porch.
Chance cursed under his breath.
"That nosy old man," he whispered. "He must have heard the thud."
He grabbed Will's hand and pulled him.
"Come on, inside. Quick."
They ran into the house. Chance closed the door quietly.
"That neighbor's the neighborhood gossip," he explained, panting. "If he'd seen us, tomorrow everyone would know we were out here at this hour 'doing drugs or drinking.' Stupid old man. He's bored in his house and comes to bother us."
They were both dirty: dirt on their clothes, grass in their hair.
Chance looked at Will and laughed.
"You're a mess. Come on, I'll lend you the bathroom. I'll wash and dry your clothes. You can wear something of mine again... and this time don't forget them."
Will agreed, his pulse still racing.
"What about your family?"
"My mom takes sleeping pills," Chance said. "I inherited insomnia from her. Mia sleeps like a log, like my dad. And he's out of the country, researching in Central America."
They went up to the second floor. Chance moved confidently; Will on tiptoes, looking around like a thief.
In Chance's room, he gave him a clean towel and clothes: a t-shirt and sleep pants.
"Leave the dirty clothes outside the bathroom. I'll wash them."
Will showered quickly, the hot water washing away the cold and dirt, steam filling the small bathroom with the scent of cheap soap. He came out wrapped in the towel, left the dirty clothes in the hallway, and returned to the room.
Chance wasn't there.
He heard the shower on the first floor. Chance was showering too.
Will sat on the bed, in the borrowed t-shirt and pants. The bed was big, soft, with sheets that smelled of fabric softener and Chance. He missed his own. Maybe that's why Jonathan went up to Nancy's room so much.
He heard footsteps on the stairs, slow, barefoot.
Chance entered, only a towel around his waist, hair wet and dripping, skin still damp and glistening under the dim nightstand light.
Water trickled down his neck, over his tan chest, over his flat stomach. Each drop seemed to trace the muscles Will had already seen—and felt—that afternoon. The scent of fresh soap and warm skin filled the room.
Chance saw him sitting on the bed in his clothes and paused for a second in the doorway. His gaze was slow, intense, as if measuring the distance between them, the air thick with steam and something more.
"The clothes look good on you," he said, voice low, almost hoarse from the hot water and the late hour.
Will felt his throat go dry. He couldn't look away: the drops falling, the towel low on his hips, arms relaxed but defined, chest rising and falling with still-quickened breath.
"Thanks," he murmured, but his voice came out shaky.
Chance approached slowly, without hurry, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having. He stopped a meter away, but the space felt smaller, the heat from his freshly showered body coming in waves.
He turned around, back to him, and pulled on boxers under the towel—slowly, letting the fabric slide a bit more than necessary, the soft sound of cloth against damp skin. Then an old t-shirt. He removed the towel completely and tossed it into the hamper with a fluid motion.
He sat next to Will on the bed, so close their thighs brushed, the heat from his freshly showered skin radiating.
Silence.
The air was charged. Will felt the warmth of Chance's freshly showered body, the scent of soap and clean skin, the faint sound of his breathing.
Chance glanced sideways. Will did the same.
Chance spoke first, looking at the window, voice low and careful.
"Hey... is it true what people say?" he asked. "About... you liking boys."
Will felt the world stop.
He'd never had this conversation. Not with Jonathan (who suspected). Not with his mom (who intuited). Not with anyone.
But he looked at Chance—so close, with wet hair, the t-shirt clinging from the moisture—and knew it didn't matter hiding it anymore.
"Yes," he said, voice steady even if trembling inside. "I knew because of Mike. I fell in love with him. I didn't know what to do. I used Jane to confess it without saying it outright. It hurt seeing him with her. But now... it's not the same anymore. I love him, but as a friend. I don't feel that urge to be with him all the time anymore."
Chance listened in silence, eyes fixed.
Will continued, because he couldn't stop now.
"And girls... it grosses me out to think about kissing them. No offense. It's always been that way."
Chance took a deep breath.
"I knew because of two things," he said at last, voice low. "When I was little, I'd stare at the underwear boxes in the store. The men modeling the underwear almost naked—no one could blame you. And then... Jason."
Will looked at him, surprised.
"Jason was my first love," Chance continued. "Impossible. He wasn't gay. He was with Chrissy. One night, after a party, drunk, I told everything to Chrissy and Patrick. Crying, asking forgiveness. They calmed me down. Chrissy said it wasn't disgusting to love someone. That she understood why Jason: handsome, charismatic, a leader, always looking out for others. Patrick joked that at least I could like someone single. Chrissy punched him. And the three of us laughed."
He paused, eyes misty.
"Chrissy and Patrick were the only real friends I ever had. They always supported me. In everything. They made me feel like I wasn't broken. And now... I miss them so much..."
Will felt a deep familiarity, as if he were hearing his own story reflected. The impossible love for someone close, the secret that eats at you.
He placed a hand over Chance's on the bed, slowly, as if asking permission.
Chance squeezed it hard.
They looked at each other.
The space between them shrank centimeter by centimeter.
Chance moved first, slowly, eyes locked on Will's.
Will did too, closing his eyes a second before contact.
Their lips brushed, soft, trembling, like a question they both knew the answer to.
The first kiss was short, shy, full of nerves.
The second longer, more certain.
The third... there was no turning back. Chance placed a hand on his cheek, warm and still damp, and Will on his neck, pulling him closer.
They kissed as if they'd been waiting years, the heat building between them, breaths mingling, hands exploring slowly—the back, the hair, the waist.
When they pulled apart, breathing hard, Chance smiled against his mouth, eyes shining.
"So... does this mean the date went well?"
Will laughed, nervous and happy.
"It means I want another one. In an expensive place, I remind you."
Chance kissed him again, deeper this time.
And that early morning, in the upstairs room, with the house asleep, Will finally felt like he was home.
Chapter 7: A good morning? Or afternoon?
Summary:
Will wakes up in Chance's bed. With Chance,
Notes:
This is my first fanfic, and I would love for you to comment to let me know what you liked the most and what you didn't. If you want... I love you all.
Chapter Text
Will woke up slowly, enveloped in a warmth that hugged him completely.
He didn't want to move. The bed was soft, the sheets smelled of fabric softener and something that reminded him of when, as a child, he sometimes slept in his mother's bed—he felt safe and at peace. The heat surrounded him entirely, comforting, as if someone had turned on a heater just for him.
And then he remembered other kinds of heat.
The scorching heat when they were exorcising him while he was possessed by the Mind Flayer. That inner fire that burned him alive from the inside, making him feel like he was melting, like every cell was ablaze. Anything the hive touched with fire—a flamethrower, a torch, an incendiary shot—he felt it in his own body, as if the flames were licking his skin, running through his veins, filling his lungs with smoke.
Or the perpetual cold that the Mind Flayer loved, or that of the Upside Down: that icy void that seeped into his bones, making him shiver nonstop, stealing his breath and leaving his skin bluish and numb.
This heat was different.
It was... good. Safe. Alive.
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light filtering through the half-open blinds. And he realized two things at once.
One: he wasn't on his basement mattress.
Two: the heat was coming from the person pressed against his back.
He turned his head slowly, his heart already racing before he fully understood.
Tan skin, messy black hair, steady breathing against his nape.
Chance.
Everything came rushing back: the red shorts, the bike in the dead of night, the fall on the grass, the shower, the room, the confessions... the kisses. Many kisses. Long, soft, intense. Until sleep overtook them, embraced, without realizing it.
Will felt his body temperature rise again. He trembled, but not from cold. It was happiness, disbelief, fear, and desire all mixed together. He had kissed a boy. More than once. And it had felt... beautiful. Perfect.
They were spooning. Chance behind him, an arm naturally around his waist, hand open on his stomach, fingers relaxed against the borrowed t-shirt. Chance's chest pressed to his back, rising and falling with each slow breath. Their legs intertwined—Chance's knee between his, warm and smooth skin against his own. The blanket covered them both, heavy and warm, trapping that shared heat.
Will noticed he had the bed's only pillow—small, firm—under his head. Chance was sleeping on his own arm, which must have been numb.
And then he felt something else.
Chance's hips pressed against his. And something hard, warm, pressing against his butt.
Will froze. His heart pounded wildly. He didn't know what to think. It scared him a little—because it was new, unknown. But he also liked it. A lot. It gave him goosebumps, but in a way different from the fear he'd associated with it in the past. It was a sweet, electric tingle that ran up his spine and made him hold his breath.
Chance shifted then, a sleepy sigh against his nape.
Will held his breath.
Chance seemed to wake up fully. He blinked, disoriented for a second. Then he saw Will, so close, and smiled with that slow, sleepy grin that made Will's stomach flip.
"Good morning," he murmured, voice husky and low, and without thinking, he gave him a soft kiss on the bare shoulder, right where the t-shirt had slipped down.
Will felt himself melt.
But in that moment, Chance moved closer to give the kiss... and seemed to realize the situation lower down.
His eyes widened fully.
"Oh, shit," he whispered, red to the ears.
He tried to pull away quickly, apologizing in stammers.
But the blanket was tangled, Will's arm still under his, and the movement was clumsy.
Chance slipped.
He fell off the bed with a loud thud, taking the entire blanket with him and landing on the floor with a muffled "ow!"
Will sat up abruptly, worried and laughing at the same time.
"Are you okay?"
Chance, on the floor, wrapped like a burrito in the blanket, laughed too, red as a tomato.
"Yeah... just my dignity died."
Will peered over the edge of the bed, smiling.
"Good morning to you too."
Chance looked up at him from below, still laughing, but with shining eyes.
And Will knew that, even though the day was just starting, it was already the best of his life.
Chance got up from the floor still wrapped in the blanket like a disastrous burrito, red to the ears. He quickly adjusted it around his waist, covering his crotch—still in boxers—trying to look casual even though embarrassment shone on his face.
"This... this is your fault, you know?" he said, voice husky but with a playful tone that didn't hide the nervousness. "Look what you do to me."
Will, still sitting on the bed with his legs dangling, let out a nervous laugh, feeling the heat rise up his neck again.
But the laugh cut off abruptly.
Knock knock knock.
Someone knocked on the bedroom door.
"Chance?" It was Mia's voice, cheerful and unfiltered. "Come down already! Mom made breakfast and says to bring your friend. What's his name? Bill?"
Chance and Will looked at each other with eyes wide as saucers.
"How...?" Will started, in a terrified whisper.
Chance ran to the door in two strides, still with the blanket around his waist like an improvised toga. He opened it just a crack, peeking his head out.
"How do you know someone's here?" he asked, voice low but urgent.
Mia, on the other side, let out a giggle.
"Mom found wet clothes in the washer that clearly aren't ours. And they're not your size so you can't say they're yours. Plus... Mom came in earlier to ask if you wanted to go to the supermarket with her, but she said you were very 'comfortable' with your friend and didn't want to bother you."
Chance closed his eyes for a second, as if asking the universe for patience.
Will, behind him, felt his face burn so hot it could light up the room. He braced for the worst: yelling, an angry mother bursting in, kicking him out, calling Joyce to complain. In Hawkins, people didn't take kindly to these things. He knew from experience, from rumors, from the fear he always carried inside.
But none of that happened.
Mia continued, without malice.
"So come down with... Will? Bill? Mom wants to meet him. She says she made pancakes and doesn't want them to get cold."
Chance looked over his shoulder at Will, with a face that said "this wasn't in the plan."
Will covered his face with his hands, but couldn't help a muffled laugh from pure nerves.
Chance sighed.
"Tell her we'll be down in five minutes," he said to Mia.
"Okay," she sang, and her footsteps faded down the hallway.
Chance closed the door and leaned against it, still with the blanket.
"My family is... intense," he murmured, red but smiling. "Sorry."
Will shook his head, still surprised.
"No... I don't get it," he said, voice low. "I thought... if your mom saw us like this, she'd get furious. Kick me out. Call my mom. Or something worse."
Chance looked at him, understanding perfectly the fear behind the words.
He approached and sat on the edge of the bed, the blanket still around his waist.
"My parents aren't... that conservative," he explained, voice soft. "When I was 14, I told them. I cried a lot, thought they'd hate me. My mom hugged me and said I didn't have to cry for loving. That love is never a bad thing, as long as it doesn't hurt me or someone else. And she joked that now Mia and I could talk about boys together... when Mia was older, of course."
Will smiled a little, though his eyes stung.
"And your dad?"
Chance chuckled softly.
"My dad started with a history lesson. He said it wasn't weird. That in ancient times it was normal. In Roman mythology, in armies, men formed pairs to fight harder—because they battled beside the one they loved most. He went on about Greece, Sparta, a bunch of cultures. In the end, I felt... normal."
Will felt something loosen in his chest. A deep familiarity, but also healthy envy. He'd never had that conversation with Lonnie. Joyce intuited it, supported him without words, but it had never been so direct.
"I wish my family had been like that," he murmured.
Chance took his hand.
"They love you. I know it. They just... need time. Like everyone."
They stayed like that for a second, hands intertwined.
Then Chance smiled.
"Come on. Pancakes are waiting. And my mom doesn't bite... much."
Will laughed, nervous but relieved.
They got dressed quickly—Chance put on normal clothes, Will stayed in the borrowed t-shirt and pants—and went downstairs.
Will descended the stairs behind Chance, his heart still pounding from nerves.
He hid a bit, using Chance's body as a shield, as if at any moment the mother would appear with a broom and chase him out. In his head, the worst scenes replayed: yelling, accusing questions, a call to Joyce complaining that her son had "corrupted" hers.
Chance, on the other hand, walked relaxed, though his cheeks were still a little red from the earlier fall.
They entered the kitchen.
The smell of freshly made pancakes, crispy bacon, and coffee filled the air, warm and homey. Chance's mother was facing away, finishing stacking the last pancakes on a platter. When she heard the footsteps, she turned with a huge, genuine smile that lit up the whole kitchen.
"Good morning, boys," she said, voice cheerful. "Just in time. Sit down, sit down, I'm almost done."
Will felt some of the fear loosen in his chest. That smile wasn't angry. It was... welcoming.
They sat at the table. Mia was already there, mouth full of pancake and syrup stuck to the corner, swinging her legs in the chair.
When she saw Will, she waved enthusiastically and let out a muffled "good morning!" choked by food.
Chance scolded her immediately.
"Mia, don't talk with your mouth full."
Mia looked at him offended and swallowed quickly.
"I was talking to Will, not you."
Chance rolled his eyes.
"You're impossible."
And they started bickering like siblings: Mia defending her right to talk however she wanted, Chance saying it was bad manners. All in a light tone, with laughs in between.
Will looked around, still tense. Chance's mother placed a steaming plate in front of him—perfect golden pancakes with melting butter on top—and another in front of Chance. She served herself and sat across from Will, with her own plate and a cup of coffee.
They ate in silence for a while. Only the clink of forks and some comment from Mia about TV or school was heard.
Will ate slowly, savoring each bite, but with his stomach churning from nerves. When he finished, he stood up quickly.
"Let me wash the plate," he said, politely.
Chance's mother shook her head, smiling.
"No, no, leave it there. I'll wash it later. I want to ask something first."
Will and Chance exchanged glances. The air tensed a bit.
The mother took a sip of coffee, looking at them with bright eyes.
"Tell me... are you boyfriends?" she asked directly, but with a huge smile. "Because if you are, he'd be Chance's first official boyfriend. How exciting!"
Chance nearly choked on his pancake.
"Mom!" he protested, red as a tomato. "Stop!"
But she continued, unstoppable.
"Have you kissed yet? How long have you been together? Chance never brings anyone home, so..."
In the midst of the commotion, Will heard Mia say with her mouth full again:
"So is Will my brother-in-law now? Or son-in-law?"
Will felt his face burn so hot he could cook another pancake on it.
He didn't know what to say.
Yes, they had kissed. Many times. Intensely. But they hadn't talked about labels. Were they boyfriends? Friends who kissed? Something more?
Chance tried to hush his mother, stammering excuses.
Will could only stare at his empty plate, heart pounding.
Chance's mother laughed, raising her hands in surrender.
"Okay, okay, I won't push. Just... I'm glad to see my son happy. And you, Will, seem like a charming boy."
Will managed to smile, though his cheeks burned.
"Thank you... Mrs. Romanillos."
"Call me Elena," she said, winking. "And come whenever you want. The door's always open."
Chance looked at Will across the table, with a mix of embarrassment and something softer in his eyes.
Will felt that, for the first time, he didn't have to hide.
At least not there.
Will was already feeling more relaxed.
The Romanillos' kitchen was warm, full of light and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Elena talked to him as if she'd known him for years. She asked about his likes, school, Hawkins. Will, nervous at first, ended up telling her things he rarely said out loud: that he loved drawing monsters and heroes, that he dreamed of creating comics or illustrations for games like D&D, that he liked bold colors and stories with unexpected endings.
Elena smiled the whole time, with that warmth that made Will feel... welcomed.
She told him she loved plants and flowers. That in the Philippines she'd had a huge garden: fruit trees—mangoes, papayas, calamansi—vegetables that grew year-round, flowers that perfumed the whole house. Here in Hawkins, she planted what she could in the backyard and in pots inside, but she missed the constant sun, the red soil, the smell of tropical rain.
"One day I'll show you photos," she said. "Or better, when you come for dinner—with your family if possible—I'll tell you everything."
Will smiled, though his heart skipped a beat at "when you come for dinner."
Mia chimed in now and then, asking if Will drew princesses or dragons, and Chance... Chance just listened, sitting next to Will, with an affectionate smile that didn't fade. Every so often their knees brushed under the table, and neither pulled away.
Elena mentioned, casually, that in the basement Chance's father had a collection of functional replicas of ancient weapons from around the world: a Japanese naginata, an Aztec macuahuitl of obsidian (replica, of course), Roman swords, African spears... All handmade by artisans, all sharp and usable.
"My husband is a history nut," Elena said, laughing. "He says it's to 'understand how the ancients fought.' But I think he just likes having pretty and dangerous things."
Will listened with his mouth open. Chance laughed, proud.
Will glanced sideways at the wall clock in the kitchen.
12 noon.
Twelve.
His stomach dropped.
He was supposed to have been home before dawn. Or at least by 8 or 9. Jonathan had slept in the basement. He'd notice he was gone. Then Joyce. And Mike. And everyone.
He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping the floor.
"I have to go," he said, voice hurried. "I didn't expect to stay so long. Sorry."
Elena blinked, surprised.
Chance and Mia too.
"Everything okay?" Elena asked.
Will nodded, already grabbing his plate.
Chance stood quickly and went to fetch Will's washed and dried clothes—perfectly folded, smelling of fabric softener.
Will ran to the hallway bathroom, changed in seconds, and came out with his backpack on his shoulder.
He said goodbye quickly at the door:
"Thanks for everything, Elena. It was... incredible. Thanks, Mia. See you, Chance."
Elena shouted from the kitchen:
"Be careful, Will! And next time have dinner with us!"
"Bring Holly too!" Mia yelled after.
Will ran out to the yard, jumped on the bike with his heart pounding.
But as he started pedaling, a hand grabbed his arm.
It was Chance.
He'd followed him.
He looked both ways down the street—empty, no one in sight—and without a word, pulled him close.
He kissed him.
Quick, but deep. Lips against lips, one hand on Will's nape, the other on his waist.
Will accepted it, closing his eyes for a second, feeling the world stop.
But then he remembered where they were: outside, in broad daylight.
He pulled back slowly, breathing hard.
He looked at Chance, voice low and shaky.
"Are we... boyfriends?"
Chance looked at him, eyes shining, breathing fast. He opened his mouth as if to say yes.
But he stopped. Thought for a second.
"I'll give you an answer next weekend," he said at last, voice soft but serious. "Deal?"
Will wanted to argue, wanted to know now, but Chance squeezed his hand.
"You're late," he whispered, smiling. "Go before they kill you."
Will nodded, still dazed from the kiss.
He pedaled fast, the cold wind in his face, the taste of Chance still on his lips.
And even though he was late, even though he knew a storm awaited him at home...
He was smiling.
Because for the first time, he had a real reason to.
Will pedaled as fast as he could, the cold wind whipping his face and making his eyes water. The sun was already high; it was past twelve. He'd lost all track of time at Chance's house.
He reached the Wheeler neighborhood with his heart in his throat. He couldn't go through the front door: everyone would be awake, and the questions would come like an avalanche.
He braked the bike at the corner, hid it behind some bushes, and circled the house from the side, crouching among the hedges. The backyard was empty, thank God. He ran to the basement door, opened it with the key Karen had given him, and slipped in quietly.
The basement was empty.
Jonathan wasn't on the couch. Will's mattress was just as he'd left it, blanket tossed aside.
Part of him had clung to the impossible hope that everyone was still asleep. That he could slip in, pretend he'd been there all night.
But no.
He quickly took off his jacket, t-shirt, pants. He felt strange in those clothes—they smelled of different fabric softener, of someone else's home. He changed into old pajamas, something that seemed more "normal" for someone who'd supposedly spent the night in the basement.
He took a deep breath. Climbed the stairs slowly, toward the door to the house.
And stopped.
Voices. Many voices. From the kitchen and living room.
Joyce crying, choked but unmistakable.
Karen trying to calm her: "It's okay, Joyce, he's probably fine, maybe he went out for an early walk..."
Jonathan, nervous: "We have to go look for him. Now. Nancy, come with me."
Nancy: "Jonathan, calm down, breathe, let's think..."
And Mike, talking fast into the walkie-talkie:
"Dustin, Lucas, do you copy? Will's gone. He disappeared again. Steve, Robin, are you there? We need to search now."
Will felt his stomach drop.
He pushed the basement door an inch, just enough to peek.
He pushed the basement door another inch, just enough to peer through.
Holly was sitting at the dining table, reading. She was the first to see him.
"There he is, Will," she said simply, pointing with her juice glass, as if announcing the milk had arrived.
The silence that followed was immediate and absolute.
Joyce reacted first. She turned so fast she nearly knocked over the coffee mug in her hand. Eyes red, face pale from held-back tears. When she saw Will in the doorway, she let out a sob of pure relief and ran to him.
She hugged him so tight Will felt like he couldn't breathe, but he didn't complain. Joyce's hands trembled on his back.
"My God, Will..." she whispered into his hair. "We thought... we thought the worst."
Jonathan came up behind, pale, fists clenched. Seeing him safe, he let out all the air he'd been holding and ran a hand over his face, as if lifting a weight.
Nancy approached too, eyes shiny, and put a hand on his shoulder.
Karen smiled, relieved from the kitchen.
Mike stayed in the back, walkie still in hand, looking at Will like he couldn't believe his eyes. Fury and fear mixed on his face.
Holly kept coloring, satisfied with her announcement.
The relief lasted only seconds.
Then came the anger.
Joyce pulled back a little, still holding his arms, but now her voice trembled for another reason.
"Where were you, Will?" she asked, trying to stay calm. "You were gone all night. Jonathan woke up at seven and your mattress was empty. With everything that's happened... you can't just go out like that alone."
Jonathan crossed his arms, serious.
"It's dangerous, Will. You know it. We can't take risks. Not after everything we've been through."
Nancy nodded, voice soft but firm.
"You really scared us."
Karen chimed in, trying to soften it.
"We're just worried, sweetie. Hawkins isn't safe lately, with the military and all that."
Mike stepped forward, walkie hanging at his side.
"What if something had happened to you?" he said, voice low but loaded. "Again? Knowing you're a magnet for bad things?"
Will felt genuine guilt. He lowered his gaze.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't think... you'd worry so much. I went out early and lost track of time."
Joyce looked at him steadily.
"Where were you really?"
Will swallowed hard. The pink paint excuse wouldn't work here. And he couldn't tell the truth. Not yet.
"I went... to a friend's house," he said finally, voice low. "Mia's brother, Holly's friend. We played basketball and... I stayed longer than planned."
Mike frowned.
"A friend? What friend?"
Will didn't answer directly, but the silence was answer enough.
Karen smiled, oblivious to the tension.
"Oh, Mia's family, the Romanillos. They're lovely. I'm glad you've made new friends."
Joyce looked at Will, then at Mike, remembering the conversation with Will the night before, but didn't push in front of Karen and Holly.
Jonathan sighed.
"Doesn't matter who it is," he said. "The rule is clear: no one goes alone. Not until things calm down more."
Will nodded, feeling the weight of guilt.
"I promise."
But in his mind, the image of Chance kissing him in the yard was still fresh.
And he knew that, even if he promised, keeping it would be hard.
Because for the first time, he had something—someone—worth breaking the rules for.
Chapter 8: Kiss him, coward.
Summary:
Will eagerly awaits the weekend.
Notes:
For some reason, I'm starting to ship Andy and Dustin, Jason with Mike, and Patrick with Lucas. This happens to me for loving ships that come out of nowhere.
Chapter Text
On Monday morning, Will left the Wheelers' house with Mike and Holly, as usual. Holly rode her little bike, her pink backpack full of crayons and notebooks, humming a song from the TV show she'd watched on Saturday. Mike rode beside Will in silence, hands gripping the handlebars, staring straight ahead with a serious face. He hadn't spoken much since Sunday, and the air between them felt heavy, like there was a pending conversation neither wanted to start.
They dropped Holly off at the elementary school, a few blocks away. Holly said goodbye with a quick hug to Will and a "see you later!" to Mike, then ran inside without looking back.
Will and Mike continued toward Hawkins High. The sky was gray, with low clouds threatening rain. The neighborhood was starting to wake up: neighbors taking out trash, cars starting, the smell of coffee and toast drifting from open windows.
When they reached the school entrance, Dustin and Lucas were already there, leaning against the wall, waiting.
Dustin was the first to spot them. He straightened up immediately.
"Will," he said, voice low but urgent. "You okay?"
Lucas approached too, frowning.
"What happened yesterday? You disappeared. Didn't check in. We thought... I don't know, something happened to you."
Will felt guilt again. He looked down for a second.
"I'm fine," he said. "I just... went out and lost track of time. Sorry."
Dustin and Lucas exchanged a glance.
"Man, you can't do that," Dustin said. "You know how things are. You can't go out alone without letting us know. At least a message on the walkie. Something."
Lucas nodded.
"We were all worried. Mike called us on the walkie and... well, you know."
Will glanced sideways at Mike. Mike stayed quiet, staring at the ground, hands clenched in his pockets. He hadn't said a word since they left the house.
Will knew why.
Jane was in town—she was with Hopper, even though Hopper was still "officially dead"—but Mike and she had barely seen each other. Mike spent hours in his room with the walkie-talkie on, waiting for Jane to talk to him, waiting for someone to tell him everything was okay. The tension between them in California had been huge: arguments, lack of communication, broken promises. And now that they were in the same town, things hadn't improved.
Will felt like Mike was angry with him, yes, but also with everything: with Jane for not talking to him, with the group for not understanding, with the world for not letting him breathe.
Will wanted to say something, but he didn't know what.
Dustin sighed, breaking the silence.
"Just... let us know next time, okay? We don't want to lose you again."
Will nodded.
"Promise."
Lucas gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"Come on, or we'll be late."
They went inside the school together.
Will felt Mike glancing at him sideways, but he said nothing.
And though Will was happy that Mike and Jane seemed to be reconciling—at their slow pace—he couldn't help thinking that, for the first time, his happiness didn't depend on that.
His happiness had brown eyes, a mischievous smile, and a fear of rabbits.
And it was waiting somewhere in the school.
The day at school dragged on slowly, as if each class lasted twice as long.
Will barely paid attention. His mind kept going back to Sunday: Chance's room, the kiss in the yard, the promise of an answer next weekend. His heart beat faster every time he remembered the way Chance had looked at him before kissing him.
When the final bell rang, he headed to the hallway with the group, backpack over his shoulder.
At the main door, as always, they ran into the basketball team.
The Tigers came out together, laughing loudly, jackets with the logo, sports backpacks. Andy led the way, as usual.
Will's group—Mike, Dustin, Lucas—tensed up immediately.
Dustin and Andy started trading insults almost on reflex.
"Look, the freaks from the satanic club," Andy said, voice loud and mocking.
Dustin didn't hold back.
"And look, the idiots who think throwing a ball makes them superior."
Mike and Lucas stood beside Dustin, backing him up in silence, hard stares.
Will stayed back, as always.
He hadn't been in the direct conflict. He hadn't lived Eddie's hunt from the inside, hadn't been in the Hellfire Club when everything exploded. To him, the Tigers were just background noise, people who'd never mattered to him. He didn't like fighting with strangers. He preferred to observe, quiet, waiting for it to pass.
But then he saw movement behind the basketball group.
Chance.
At the back, as always one step behind. When their eyes met Will's, something changed in his expression. The tension eased for a second.
And he made a discreet gesture with his hand: a quick finger movement, pointing toward the woods surrounding the school, away from the groups.
Away from everyone.
Will felt his heart flip.
He looked at his group: Dustin and Andy were still trading barbs, Mike and Lucas backing them up, people starting to watch.
Chance had already turned, walking slowly toward the side of the building, like nothing was happening.
Will took a deep breath.
Will followed Chance's gesture and slipped away from the group without anyone noticing—or so he hoped.
Dustin and Andy kept throwing digs, Mike and Lucas backing in silence, people starting to form a curious semicircle around them. No one saw Will sneak off to the side of the building, backpack on his shoulder, heart pounding hard.
He circled the school on the dirt path leading to the surrounding woods. The air smelled of damp leaves and freshly cut grass. The noise of dismissal faded behind him.
He reached the spot Chance had signaled: a secluded area at the back of the school grounds, where there was an old wooden picnic table, half-hidden among the trees. It was the spot where some kids smoked in secret or groups met when they wanted privacy.
Will looked around. He didn't see Chance anywhere.
He walked slowly toward the distant table, head down, hands in his jacket pockets. His heart pounded so hard he felt it in his temples. The woods around seemed quieter than usual: just the crunch of dry leaves under his sneakers and the distant murmur of the main exit fading away.
He didn't look up.
Until he felt hands on his waist.
Warm, firm hands that wrapped around him from behind and gently pulled him against a familiar chest.
Will jumped violently, his body tensing on instinct. His elbow shot back—almost hitting Chance in the face.
Chance let out a low laugh against his nape, not fully letting go.
"Sorry, sorry," he whispered, voice husky and amused. "Didn't mean to scare you that much."
Will turned quickly, heart in his throat, cheeks burning.
Chance was there, stepping out from behind a nearby tree, with a guilty but tender smile. He'd hidden to surprise him.
"Didn't see you coming," Will murmured, still breathing fast. "I thought..."
Chance lowered his hands slowly, but left them on Will's waist, as if asking permission to stay there.
"That I hide better," he finished, voice low and a bit teasing. "Sorry. I just wanted... to hug you for a second. Without anyone seeing us."
Will felt heat rise up his neck to his ears. He looked around: the woods were empty, the picnic table deserted, the school noise distant. No one was watching.
Chance took a step closer, slower this time.
"Can I?" he asked softly, opening his arms a bit.
Will hesitated only a second.
Then nodded.
Chance wrapped his arms around his waist again, but carefully this time, slowly. Will let himself be enveloped, resting his forehead against Chance's shoulder. The smell of sweat and Chance—that scent he was starting to recognize—filled his lungs.
They stayed like that for a moment, embraced in the middle of the woods, the school world far away.
Chance rested his chin on Will's head.
"I missed you," he whispered. "Even if it's only been a few hours."
Will let out a soft laugh against Chance's shirt.
"Me too," he admitted, voice muffled.
Chance hugged him a little tighter.
"This... feels good," he said, almost like it surprised him. "Being like this. With you."
Will lifted his head just enough to look at him.
Chance looked back, brown eyes warm, shining.
Will felt the impulse was too strong. He leaned in slowly, closing his eyes, seeking his lips.
But Chance placed a gentle hand on his chest, stopping him delicately.
"Wait," he whispered, voice low but firm. "Not here. Not now."
Will opened his eyes, confused, heart pounding wildly.
Chance looked at him with a small smile, almost sad.
"I don't blame you for wanting it," he said. "I do too. A lot. But... I want to wait. Until the weekend. For the next kiss. And for my answer."
Will swallowed, feeling a mix of disappointment and something sweeter.
"Why?"
Chance stroked his cheek with his thumb, softly.
"Because I want it to be special. Not stolen in the woods, afraid someone will see us. I want it when we're truly alone. When we don't have to hide. And... I want to think it through. Not because I doubt. But because this... this is important."
Will nodded slowly, even though his body wanted the opposite.
"Okay," he said, voice low. "I'll wait."
Chance smiled, relieved, and hugged him harder for a second.
"Thanks," he whispered into his hair. "You won't regret it."
They pulled apart slowly, hands lingering a bit longer.
"I have to get back to my guys," Chance said, glancing toward the school. "Before Andy asks where I went."
Will nodded.
"Me too."
They looked at each other one more second.
Chance squeezed his hand.
"Weekend," he promised. "I'll give you my answer. And the kiss I owe you."
Will smiled, nervous but happy.
They pulled apart slowly, hands lingering a bit more.
Chance left first, disappearing among the trees toward the other side.
Will waited a minute, breathing deeply, still feeling the ghost warmth of hands on his waist.
Then he headed back to the school on a different path.
When he returned to the exit, the group had dispersed a bit. Dustin and Andy seemed on the verge of fists, but a couple of teachers were watching from afar—not caring enough to intervene in verbal sparring, but ready for a physical fight.
Will approached quietly, staying back.
Mike saw him and frowned, but said nothing.
The day went on.
But Will was already counting the hours until the weekend.
That day, after classes, everyone had agreed to meet at the WSQK radio station, where Robin and Steve now worked as announcers and sound technicians. It was the perfect place to gather without raising suspicions: an old building on the outskirts, surrounded by woods, far from the military patrolling the town center.
The group rode out on bikes. Dustin led the way, complaining nonstop about Andy and the Tigers, replaying the exit argument like a loop.
"That idiot thinks throwing a ball makes him king of the world," he said, pedaling hard. "Like we don't have bigger problems!"
Lucas rolled his eyes.
"Let it go, Dustin. Not worth it."
Mike pedaled in silence, face serious. Will rode in the back, distracted, still feeling the phantom warmth of Chance's hands on his waist and the weekend promise.
They arrived at WSQK as the sun was setting. The building was a low brick block with a tall antenna and a faded "The Squawk" sign. Steve was waiting at the door, in his uniform—plaid shirt and headphones around his neck—with a tired smile.
"You're late," he said. "Robin's already playing weird music to 'fill'."
Inside, the station smelled of old coffee and hot cables. Robin was in the control booth, waving from behind the glass as she put on a Smiths record.
Joyce, Jonathan, and Nancy were already there, sitting on the worn sofas in the waiting area. Joyce hugged Will as soon as she saw him.
"I thought you weren't coming," she said, relieved.
Jonathan ruffled his hair.
"And I thought you'd gotten lost again."
"There was a little issue at dismissal," Will explained simply.
In a corner, half-hidden behind a stack of vinyl boxes, were Hopper and Jane.
Hopper wore a low cap and a big jacket that made him look like any lumberjack. Jane had longer hair now, in a ponytail, and a loose hoodie that hid her figure. Neither talked much, but their eyes watched the windows.
Will approached slowly.
"Hi," he said, voice low.
Jane smiled, small but genuine.
"Hi, Will."
Hopper grunted a greeting, eyeing the door.
"Everything quiet in town?" he asked.
Will nodded.
"Military everywhere, but nothing new."
Joyce looked at Hopper and Jane with concern.
"How'd you get in?" Will asked.
"Joyce brought us clothes," Hopper said, voice gruff. "Walking through the woods in this"—he gestured to his disguise—"is safer than the road."
Robin came out of the booth, removing her headphones.
"Okay, everyone's here. What's the emergency? Vecna again? Or do you just want to hear my playlist?"
Steve laughed.
"Both, probably."
The group sat in a circle on the mismatched sofas and chairs.
Will sat next to Jane, feeling the weight of the meeting.
But in his mind, part of him was still in the woods.
With Chance.
Waiting for the weekend.
And the answer that would change everything.
The WSQK radio station was filled with low, worried voices.
The group had settled in a circle on the worn sofas and mismatched chairs in the waiting area. Robin had turned down the background music and closed the booth so no one outside could hear. Steve handed out coffees and sodas from the machine, trying to keep spirits up with jokes that didn't always land.
Joyce sat next to Hopper, who kept his cap low and voice gruff. Jane listened in silence, hands clenched in her lap.
The main topic was Vecna.
"Jane's training is going well," Hopper said, looking around. "She's stronger. Can enter someone's mind from a distance now, without touching, and her resistance and strength have increased. But he... he's still there. We feel him. Distant, but there."
Jane nodded.
"He's waiting," she said, voice low. "Like he's... recovering."
Jonathan frowned.
"We need to find a way back in without the military catching us. The gates are sealed with those metal plates, but there are weak points. The woods, the lake..."
Nancy pulled out a makeshift map, marked with marker.
"Here, here, and here," she pointed. "Possible entries. But with the new cameras they're installing all over town... it's risky."
Mike crossed his arms.
"And the quarantine. The rumors are true. The military talks about 'containment' for the 'earthquake.' No one in or out without permission. If we try something big, they'll see us."
Dustin jumped in.
"And the cameras. I saw them installing one downtown. High def, night and day. If a gate opens, they'll know before we do."
Will listened, but drifted off little by little.
Since returning from California, his connection had changed. The tingle in his nape—that cold feeling that warned him when it was near—no longer triggered like before. He felt the presence, yes. Distant, like an echo in the back of his mind. But he didn't know where. Or how close or far. Just that it was there, waiting.
He hadn't been much help in meetings lately. He felt useless, like his "superpower" had broken.
He looked at Jane. She looked back, as if she understood.
Steve broke the heavy silence.
"So... plan: train Jane more, watch the cameras, scout discreet entries. And hope he makes a mistake first."
Robin nodded.
"And I'll monitor military frequencies from here. If they talk about anything weird, we'll know."
Joyce looked at Will.
"Do you feel anything, honey?"
Will shook his head.
"Just... distant. Like background noise."
Mike stared at him.
"At least that's something. If he gets closer, you'll know."
Will nodded, but said nothing more.
Then he raised his hand, voice low.
"But from what I know... even though all the gates are sealed with plates, where they all converged—in front of the library, downtown—it's still open. The big one."
The group went quiet.
Nancy frowned.
"The central gate?"
Will nodded.
"The military's using it for something. They covered it with structures, but didn't fully close it. I've seen trucks going in and out. And soldiers guarding day and night. It's not just containment... it's like they're... investigating inside."
Hopper grunted.
"Or using the access for their own experiments."
Jane looked at Will.
"You feel anything from there?"
Will shook his head.
"No more than before. Just... presence. Distant."
Joyce pressed her lips together.
"Then that could be our entry. The biggest one. The one that could get us closest to Vecna."
Steve let out a bitter laugh.
"Or the perfect trap."
The group fell silent, processing.
Will looked out the window, toward the dark woods.
And though the threat was there, distant but present...
His mind went back to the embrace in the woods.
To the weekend promise.
And for the first time, he had something stronger than fear.
Something that made him look forward to Saturday with his heart beating in a completely new way.
The week passed both slowly and quickly, as if time was playing with him.
The school days were long: dragging classes, stolen glances at Chance in the hallways, some "accidental" brushes when they crossed in the cafeteria. Sometimes, in free moments between classes, they met in hidden corners—behind the gym, in the empty library—just to talk softly or for a quick, strong hug that lasted just long enough not to be seen.
The nights were shorter, but more intense. Will slipped out with extreme care—Jonathan was sleeping on the basement couch again, so he had to be a ghost. They met at the streetlamp or some new spot in the woods. They talked about everything and nothing: drawings, music, silly fears. Chance asked a lot: what Will liked to eat, his favorite candy (Will confessed Reese's Pieces, and Chance laughed saying it was "predictable but adorable"). Chance seemed to want to know everything, like he was memorizing every detail about Will.
Will felt like he was floating. But also waiting for something more. The "answer" for the weekend.
Friday night, Will slipped out as usual, heart racing. Chance was waiting at the streetlamp, with a smile that seemed to hide something.
"I have a surprise," Chance said, voice low and excited. "Tomorrow night. Dress comfortable. And bring a change of clothes. You'll need it."
Will frowned, curious.
"Where are we going?"
Chance shook his head, smiling wider.
"It's a secret. But trust me. It's going to be... special."
Will felt his stomach flip with nerves and excitement.
"And tonight?"
Chance looked at him, eyes shining under the streetlamp.
"Tonight we just talk. And I'll give you a hint: don't eat too much at dinner. And something for the cold."
Will laughed, nervous.
"Okay. But... the answer?"
Chance stepped closer, took his hand for a second.
"Tomorrow," he whispered. "I promise."
They parted with a long hug, one that lasted just enough not to be seen, but enough for Will to fall asleep that night with Chance's scent on his shirt.
Saturday felt eternal.
Will spent the day distracted, helping Joyce with moving boxes, avoiding Mike's glances. He packed a change of clothes in his backpack: comfortable pants, t-shirt, thick jacket. And his walkie-talkie, just in case.
When night came, he slipped out with the usual care.
Chance was waiting in the blue truck, parked a bit farther to avoid noise.
Will climbed in, nervous.
Chance smiled, starting the engine.
"Ready for the surprise, Byers?"
Will nodded, heart pounding wildly.
"Ready."
Chance put in a tape—the same one with Filipino songs—and they left the neighborhood.
Will looked out the window, the town fading behind.
And he felt like, for the first time, he was heading toward something that wasn't fear.
But toward something that could be his.
Chapter 9: The lovers' lake.
Summary:
Will and Chance are on their second date.
Notes:
Although I focus more on romance, you can also expect some of the original story, so I can only say that it will get darker later on.
Chapter Text
Will watched the trees blur past the window like shadowy smudges under the full moon, which spilled silvery light over the damp asphalt and bare trunks. The blue truck wound along back roads, far from downtown Hawkins, the engine purring softly while the Filipino music played low on the cassette deck—a slow, nostalgic melody with acoustic guitar and a woman's voice that seemed to tell a story of lost love. The air inside the cab was warm from the heater, but Will felt the outside cold seeping through the cracks, numbing his fingers a bit inside his jacket pockets.
He was nervous: stomach churning like he'd swallowed butterflies, hands sweating slightly despite the chill. But it paled compared to Chance, who, though wearing a confident, relaxed smile, couldn't fully hide his right leg bouncing against the truck floor—a nervous tic, his foot tapping rhythmically on the dead pedal.
He didn't know where they were going. Chance had only said "surprise" and "trust me," in that low voice that made Will feel a tingle at the nape of his neck. But when he recognized the route—passing near the old Hawkins Lab, its abandoned buildings and rusted fences visible through the trees, then by his old Byers house, now under renovation and wrapped in silence—his heart lurched hard.
They were heading to Lovers' Lake.
That place the older kids at school whispered about with mischievous tones: where couples went to kiss, to hide from the world, to... do more. In the middle of October, with the biting night cold that turned breath into white clouds, the idea seemed crazy.
And exciting. His pulse raced just thinking about it, heat rising up his neck despite the icy air slipping through the cracked window.
When Chance parked the truck in a clearing near the lake, he killed the engine. Silence fell suddenly, heavy and absolute, broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the rocky shore and the wind whispering through the bare trees, making branches creak like old bones. The lake was dark, a silver mirror under the full moon, surrounded by trees reflected in the water like bony, twisted fingers. The air smelled of deep dampness, rotting leaves piled on the shore, something fresh and almost metallic, as if the lake held ancient secrets beneath its calm surface.
They got out.
The ground crunched under their sneakers, dry leaves and damp earth. Chance turned to Will, smile wide but eyes shining with nerves, hands in his pockets as if to hide the slight tremble.
"Wanna go swimming?" he asked, voice low, almost a whisper blending with the wind.
Will understood instantly why Chance had told him to bring a comfortable change of clothes. He looked at the lake, the cold already seeping through his jacket and raising goosebumps on his skin, and let out an incredulous laugh, breath coming out in a white cloud.
"Seriously? In October? At this hour?"
Chance shrugged, already pulling off his jacket with quick movements, as if the cold didn't bother him or adrenaline kept him warm.
"It's tradition," he said, voice trembling a bit with anticipation, teeth chattering faintly. "The water's cold, but... it's worth it."
Will felt his cheeks burn, heat rising up his neck despite the icy wind whipping his face. He glanced at his backpack in the seat: he'd brought sports shorts and a tank top, just as Chance suggested. His stomach flipped with a mix of nerves and excitement.
But before he could say anything, Chance started stripping.
First the shirt, tossing it onto the truck hood in one fluid motion. His tan skin gleamed under the moon, back and arm muscles defined by the cold and silver light, nervous sweat beading on his neck from anticipation. Then the pants, leaving him in black swim shorts underneath, fitted, showing off strong basketball-player legs—firm thighs and defined calves.
Will's breath caught, mouth dry. He couldn't look away: the defined torso, the hip line dipping under the shorts, moonlight reflecting on his skin like liquid silver.
Chance turned for a second, smiling at Will's face—that mischievous grin knowing exactly what it provoked, eyes gleaming with something playful and hungry.
And without another word, he ran toward the lake and dove in with a perfect leap, disappearing into the water with a loud splash that shattered the night's quiet, droplets flying like diamonds in the air.
Will jumped back to avoid the cold splashes that reached him, icy water soaking his sneakers and pants.
Chance surfaced seconds later, shaking his head like a wet dog, black hair plastered to his forehead and neck in messy strands. The water reached his chest, glistening on his tan skin, droplets sliding down shoulders and chest.
"Come on!" he shouted, laughing, teeth chattering. "It's delicious!"
Will let out a nervous laugh, breath visible in the air.
"You're a terrible liar."
Chance laughed harder, swimming backward a bit, arms cutting the water easily, body shining under the moon.
"Come on, Byers. Don't leave me alone."
Will sighed, feeling the cold on his skin and heat in his chest, heart pounding wildly.
He took off his jacket, then his shirt. Left in a tank top and pants. He hesitated a second with the pants—he'd be in underwear—but grabbed the change from his backpack and switched quickly behind the open truck door, cold night wind whipping his exposed skin and raising goosebumps everywhere.
Sports shorts and tank top.
He shivered immediately in the night air, goosebumps covering arms and legs.
He glanced sideways.
Chance was staring at him fixedly from the water.
Only half his head above, dark eyes locked on him, like an alligator stalking prey. The expression was intense, hungry, but with a small smile on his lips, water dripping from his hair and sliding down his face.
Will felt embarrassment burning his cheeks... but he liked it too. A lot. Being seen like that. Desired. The cold forgotten for a second, his body reacting with heat rising from his stomach.
Chance swam closer, water rippling around, soft splashes breaking the silence.
"You look... incredible," he said, voice low, almost drowned by the water, but full of something that made Will feel heat all over.
Will smiled nervously and walked to the shore, damp grass cold under bare feet.
The water was freezing.
Part of him wanted to turn and run back to the truck. They'd get sick for sure.
But he looked at Chance—that warm, shining gaze inviting him—and took a deep breath.
He jumped in all at once, to avoid delaying the inevitable.
The cold hit like a punch. Water reached his chest instantly, stealing his breath. He trembled all over, teeth chattering, muscles tensing in shock, body screaming to get out.
"Fuck..." he whispered, gasping, breath coming in a white cloud.
Chance laughed, swimming closer.
"Wait," he said, voice shaky from cold but amused. "If we move a bit, we'll warm up."
They started swimming around, splashing, laughing at the absurdity. The water was constant shock, but movement helped. Gradually, the cold became bearable, body adapting, blood circulating faster.
By accident, Chance kicked hard and splashed water in Will's face.
Will let out a choked yelp and splashed back, slapping the water with his hands.
In seconds, it was war.
They splashed each other, chased, dunked one another. The lake, once calm, filled with splashes, laughs, and muffled shouts. Echoes bounced off trees, but they didn't care. They were alone.
Will, at one point, floated on his back, exhausted but happy. The night sky was incredible: bright stars like diamonds, full moon silver reflecting in the calm water around, cold water contrasting inner warmth.
He wanted to draw it. Capture that image forever.
He was so lost in the sky he didn't notice Chance swimming closer.
Until a shadow blocked it.
Will blinked.
Chance was there, floating in front of him, blocking the sky view. But what he saw now was better: Chance's smile, brown eyes gleaming under the moon, wet hair plastered to his face, droplets sliding down skin.
The starry, moonlit background framed him like a perfect painting.
Will felt it wasn't just a desire to draw.
It was a need.
He had to capture that someday.
He righted himself in the water, cold creeping back a bit, but he didn't care anymore.
They drifted closer, like magnets.
Will didn't realize when Chance wrapped his legs around his hips, or when their bodies pressed fully together. He just felt sudden heat: Chance's chest against his, arms around his neck, legs gripping his waist.
Will had to grab Chance's legs to hold him, hands on wet, firm thighs, feeling tense muscles under fingers.
He felt no cold anymore.
Only heat. Chance's heat against him, skin on skin, cold water around but fire inside.
They looked at each other, breaths mingling.
Chance hugged tighter, face buried in his neck for a second.
Will felt a soft kiss there, on sensitive skin.
He gasped, unable to help it.
Chance's hands started roaming his back, shoulders, chest. Slow, exploring, fingers tracing lines on wet skin.
Will reciprocated. Caressed Chance's legs, moving up a bit, feeling tense muscles under fingers. Kissed exposed collarbone, lake-salty water on lips, taste of lake and Chance.
Chance sighed against his ear.
"If you want... you can leave marks," he whispered, voice husky. "I'd love to show them off to my friends."
Will felt his whole body burn.
They pulled back just enough to look. Breaths as one.
Will leaned in closer, seeking lips.
But at the last second, Chance turned his head, denying the kiss.
Will froze.
"What...?" he murmured, voice shaky. "Please..."
Chance looked at him, dark eyes full of desire but also something firmer.
"Not yet," he whispered. "Wait a little longer."
Will felt himself begging, wordlessly.
Chance stroked his cheek.
"I want it to be perfect. Not here, cold and rushed. I want to look you in the eyes and say it right."
Will swallowed, nodding slowly.
Even though every cell begged otherwise.
Chance smiled softly.
"Thanks for waiting."
Will laughed lowly, nervously.
"Don't kill me with hypothermia first, then."
Chance laughed too.
"Deal."
They stayed embraced in the water a while longer, floating together, cold forgotten.
Under the moon.
They climbed out of the lake shivering, but laughing.
The water was so cold their bones ached, but neither regretted it. Chance reached the shore first, extending a hand to help Will out. The night air hit like a whip, cutting wind raising goosebumps on wet skin.
Chance had brought big, thick towels stashed in the truck. He handed one to Will and wrapped himself in the other, rubbing his arms to warm up.
Will dried quickly, teeth chattering. Cold seeped to his bones, and hunger—he'd forgotten in the water—hit hard. Chance had said "don't eat much," and he'd obeyed thinking they'd go to the diner like last time. But no.
He was distracted, shivering and hugging himself, when he heard Chance moving behind.
He didn't see Chance open the back door and pull a cooler from the seat. Or climb into the truck bed—that open back some pickups had for hauling—and start setting up.
Will only looked up when Chance called.
"Come on, hop up."
Will approached, curious.
The truck bed was transformed.
Chance had spread a thick blanket on the metal floor, perfectly fitted. Over it, a soft, plush cover. In the center, a low folding table. And on it...
Small candles, already lit, flickering warm light.
Two covered plates, still steaming.
A bottle of juice and two glasses.
Will's mouth fell open.
Chance, wrapped in his towel, smiled nervously.
"Get in," he repeated, extending his hand.
Will took the offered hand and climbed into the bed. The padded floor was comfortable, almost like an improvised bed. He sat cross-legged, still with the towel over his shoulders.
Chance uncovered the plates.
The smell hit immediately: warm spices, garlic, something sweet and salty at once.
"Pancit canton," Chance explained, voice low but proud. "Or bihon, according to my mom. Main dish. Chicken, veggies, noodles... the usual."
He served: golden stir-fried noodles with chicken pieces, carrot, onion, celery, all glossy from sauce.
Then the juice: natural mango, thick, deep orange. Poured into glasses.
"And for dessert... leche flan," he said, uncovering a small container with caramel glistening on top.
Will had never tried any of it. Mango juice yes, but store-bought, watery. This smelled like home, like something made with love.
"My mom helped me cook," Chance admitted, scratching his nape, still nervous. "I wanted you to try something from home."
Will looked at the plates, candles, blanket, starry sky above.
And felt his eyes sting a bit.
"It's... perfect. Even if it's not the fancy restaurant I wanted," he said, voice low with a loving smile.
Chance smiled, relieved.
"Eat before it gets cold."
They ate in silence at first, just forks clinking and soft wind.
The pancit was delicious: salty, crunchy, with garlic-lemon flavor warming from inside.
Mango juice sweet, thick, like drinking summer.
Leche flan... creamy, caramel melting on the tongue.
Will ate slowly, savoring each bite.
Chance glanced sideways, waiting for reaction.
"You like it?" he asked finally, voice low.
Will nodded, mouth full.
"Best thing I've ever tasted," he said, sincere.
Chance grinned big, happy.
They stayed there, eating under the stars, wrapped in towels, lake whispering distant.
When finished, Chance cleared plates and lay back a bit on the blanket, gazing at the sky.
Will lay beside him.
Cold wasn't as bad now. Food warmth, blanket, Chance close... kept him warm.
Chance took his hand.
Will squeezed.
And they waited.
Until Chance spoke.
"Will..."
Will turned his head.
Chance looked at him, serious but eyes shining.
"I want to be your boyfriend," he said. "For real. Not just stolen kisses. I want it official. With you."
Will felt his heart explode.
He smiled wide.
"Me too."
Chance leaned in slowly.
This time he didn't stop him.
They kissed under the stars, slow, deep, like they had all the time in the world.
The kiss started heating up.
Will, without thinking, straddled Chance's hips in the truck bed, legs around him. Chance gasped against his mouth, hands gripping Will's waist harder. They ground instinctively, bodies pressed, heat building fast.
Will felt everything: Chance's chest rising and falling quick, hands roaming his back, hip pressure. Desire overwhelming, new, intense.
At one point, Will stopped.
Pulled back a bit, breathing hard.
"Are we gonna... do it here?" he whispered, voice shaky. "Sex?"
He didn't know how to say it. Didn't know how to do it.
He was scared.
He didn't exactly know how it worked between two guys. School taught basics—man and woman, simple biology—but nothing more. No one talked about this. No books, magazines, friends. Just cruel hallway rumors.
Chance looked at him a second, breathing just as hard.
Then let out a low, soft laugh, no mockery.
"I don't know how either," he admitted, voice husky but honest. "We'll figure it out... later. When we're ready."
Will felt embarrassment and relief at once.
"Didn't want to... disappoint you," he murmured. "Seeming like a coward."
Chance shook his head, stroked his cheek.
"You're not a coward. And I'm no expert. I'm happy with this," he said, kissing the corner of his lips. "With kisses. With touching you. We don't have to go straight to... anal sex. There are lots of things we can do first."
Will laughed lowly, relieved, heat returning but softer.
They kissed again, slower, surer. Hands exploring, bodies grinding, but no rush. No pressure.
Until cold won.
October wind blew hard now, seeping through damp towels.
"Let's get inside," Chance said, laughing. "Before we freeze."
They wrapped tighter in towels and started packing—table, extinguished candles, empty plates.
A strong gust blew suddenly.
The blanket flew from the truck bed like a white flag, lost among trees.
Will ran after it without thinking.
"Got it!" he shouted, laughing.
He saw it caught on a low branch.
Reached, stretching.
The ground beneath crunched.
And gave way.
Will fell.
In that eternal second of falling, he saw below: tunnels. The same 1984 tunnels, carved by Upside Down roots, branching under Hawkins like black veins.
Cold, damp underground air hit his face.
The last thing he heard was Chance screaming his name.
Then everything went black.
Chapter 10: The fall.
Summary:
Chance gets Will out of the hole.
Notes:
I like to think that it was Will who suggested using the tunnels, since after all, he created them.
Chapter Text
Chance only heard a scream coming from the woods.
A short, choked scream that cut off abruptly, as if someone had covered Will's mouth.
He ran toward where Will was supposed to be, heart pounding in his throat, feet crunching dry leaves and branches snapping under his sneakers. The cold wind whipped his face, but he barely felt it; nervous sweat beaded on his forehead despite October's chill.
He found the blanket snagged on a low branch, waving like a white flag in the breeze.
And beside it... a hole in the ground.
Large. Dark. Irregular, with churned-up earth around it, as if the ground had suddenly collapsed.
Chance approached carefully but quickly, breath coming in white clouds, in case the hole widened and swallowed him too. He knelt at the edge, knees sinking into damp soil, and peered down.
There was Will, on the floor about three meters below. Barely visible thanks to the silvery moonlight filtering through the hole. Motionless, face pale, a dark trickle of blood running from his temple.
"Will!" Chance shouted, voice cracking with panic. "Will, answer me!"
No response. He seemed unconscious.
Chance felt his stomach drop. He stood abruptly and ran back to the truck, legs shaking, chest burning from the sprint. His dad had given him the truck with "just-in-case" stuff: rope, flashlight, basic tools. In that moment, Chance was so grateful he almost cried with relief remembering it.
He opened the back compartment with trembling hands, pulled out the flashlight (a heavy Maglite that shone bright) and a thick nylon rope, coiled with a carabiner.
He ran back to the hole, shining the light down. The white beam cut through the darkness, illuminating Will: motionless, head tilted, blood in his dark hair.
"Will... hold on," Chance whispered, voice shaky.
He tied one end of the rope to a nearby tree—a thick oak, yanking hard several times to make sure it held.
He tossed the rest of the rope into the hole, nylon falling softly against the earth.
He started descending, slowly, hands sweating without gloves, cold seeping into his bones. The hole was narrow, damp earthen walls brushing his shoulders.
When he reached the bottom, he landed with a soft thud on the soft ground. He rushed to Will.
He tried to wake him, touching his face carefully, his shoulder.
"Will... please... wake up..."
Will opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the bright flashlight. He closed them again, groaning softly.
Chance cradled Will's head carefully, fingers trembling. He felt warm, sticky blood on the nape, hair matted.
"You're hurt," he said, voice shaky. "Can you hear me? How many fingers do you see?"
Will murmured something incoherent.
Chance was worried about a concussion, but the best thing now was to get him out.
With help, he got Will to his feet, holding him by the waist. Will wobbled but stayed upright.
Will seemed more interested in looking around than his injury.
Chance hadn't thought about it until then, but... what were these tunnels? They didn't look animal-made. Too big, too perfect, branching into darkness like black veins, air damp and cold, smelling of churned earth and something rotten, like dead roots. The tunnel seemed deserted, nothing as far as the flashlight could see, just endless darkness in both directions.
Will murmured something, voice weak but clear.
"The tunnels... from '84... all over Hawkins..."
Chance didn't believe it. All over Hawkins? That would be huge. A labyrinth under the whole town.
Will seemed okay, though pale and glassy-eyed. Chance was still worried about his head.
"I know when it's just a hard hit or a concussion," Will said, voice hoarse. "I've felt it before."
That didn't reassure Chance at all.
"Let's get out of here," he said, firm.
With Chance's help—he insisted on holding him—Will started climbing the rope, slowly, hands trembling but steady.
When he was up, he helped pull Chance up, yanking hard.
Once both were topside, Chance started gathering the remaining things—the table, extinguished candles, empty plates—glancing sideways at Will, who seemed lost in thought, touching the head wound.
Chance felt guilty to his core. He'd been the one to bring them there. Maybe if it'd been normal—a restaurant, a movie—none of this would've happened. Will was hurt now. He was a great boyfriend.
When they both got in the truck, Chance started driving to the Wheelers' house, hands gripping the wheel.
He asked Will once if he really didn't want to go to the hospital.
Will said no, he was fine. He hated hospitals. The disinfectant smell, white lights, memories.
Chance apologized, voice breaking, eyes watery.
"It was my fault..."
Will kissed his cheek, softly.
"It wasn't. It's not like you pushed me or anything. And yes, I forgive you."
Chance, instead of parking a few houses down like always, pulled up right in front of the Wheelers' house, porch lights on.
Will got out, but heard Chance get out too.
Chance approached and kissed him quickly, a brief but worry-filled kiss.
He looked at him a second.
"Sorry," he said, before grabbing Will's arm and pulling him to the front door.
Will tried to stop him, whispering.
"Stop, Chance... no..."
But Chance was already ringing the doorbell repeatedly, insistent.
Will struggled more when he heard footsteps inside and a voice—Karen's—approaching.
He knew it was too late when Karen opened the door with an annoyed look from the insistent ringing, turning to confusion seeing Chance, then immediate worry seeing Will: dried blood on his head, mud and scratches on clothes, pale face.
Karen approached quickly, hands on Will's face.
"What happened? Come in quick! You too," she said to Chance, thinking maybe both were hurt.
Once she made sure they weren't serious—just cuts and bruises—she ran upstairs to wake Joyce in the guest room.
Will looked at Chance, voice low and urgent.
"Why did you do that?"
Chance looked at him seriously, eyes still watery.
"If you weren't going to the hospital, at least your family needed to know. And something tells me you wouldn't tell them."
Will sighed.
"I've been through worse and got over it alone."
Chance shook his head.
"That just confirms I'm doing the right thing. Besides... it didn't sit right with me."
Will looked at him.
"Forget that I forgave you."
They kept whispering arguments until they heard many footsteps coming down from upstairs.
Down came Joyce, Nancy, Mike, and Jonathan.
Joyce ran to check Will, hands trembling on his face.
Mike stared at Chance, like he didn't understand why he was there... and like he blamed him, eyes narrowed.
Nancy gave a quick glance before going to the basement to wake Jonathan (though he was already coming up, confused).
Chaos was about to start.
The Wheelers' house was quiet until Chance rang the doorbell like crazy. Now it was controlled chaos: overlapping voices, quick footsteps, lights on in every room.
Karen had let both boys into the living room, turning on all the lamps. Joyce came down the stairs almost running, hair messy, eyes full of unshed tears. Jonathan appeared from the basement in pajamas, looking like he'd been woken by an earthquake. Nancy was behind Joyce, and Mike was already there, standing with arms crossed and tense face.
All eyes locked on Will: dried blood on his temple, scratches on arms, clothes full of mud and leaves.
Joyce spoke first, kneeling in front of him, hands trembling as she touched his face carefully.
"Honey... what happened?" she asked, voice breaking.
Will swallowed, feeling all the stares.
"I... fell into a hole, like a tunnel," he said, voice low. "In the woods. Lost my balance and... fell."
Joyce's eyes widened, as if a distant memory hit her suddenly. Her mouth opened to say more—Will saw it, knew it—but then she glanced at Karen (beside her, worried) and Chance (standing, uncomfortable but firm). She closed her mouth. Swallowed.
"The important thing is you're here," she said finally, voice shaky but controlled. "And you're okay."
Jonathan approached fast, almost flying seeing the blood.
"Will... you okay? What happened? Does your head hurt?"
Nancy, practical as always, jumped in.
"Shouldn't we take him to the hospital? Just to get checked."
Everyone seemed focused on Will: Joyce cleaning the blood with a damp cloth Karen gave her, Jonathan checking scratches, Nancy asking if he saw blurry or had nausea.
Everyone except Mike.
Mike stood in the back, arms crossed so tight his knuckles went white. He looked at Will, but his eyes kept shifting to Chance.
"Why did you go out alone again?" he asked finally, voice low but loaded. "We agreed you wouldn't."
Will opened his mouth to respond, but Mike continued.
"And maybe you didn't even fall," he said, looking directly at Chance. "Maybe someone hurt you."
Silence fell like lead.
Chance tensed, eyes widening in surprise and anger.
Joyce looked up, confused.
Jonathan frowned.
Karen blinked.
"What?" Will said, voice rising for the first time. "What are you saying?"
Mike didn't back down.
"I'm saying you show up hurt, at night, and he's here. Coincidence?"
Chance stepped forward, voice low but firm.
"Are you seriously accusing me?"
But before he could say more, Will stood abruptly, ignoring the slight dizziness.
"Stop, Mike!" he said, voice strong, angry—something no one expected from "quiet Will Byers." "Chance is the one who got me out! If it wasn't for him, I'd still be down there, in that hole, with no way to call anyone or get out. Don't say things that aren't true!"
Mike froze, surprised by Will's tone, the raw anger in his voice.
Chance felt something warm in his chest seeing Will defend him so fiercely, so sure.
Joyce looked at Will, then Chance, catching more than the words said.
Jonathan raised an eyebrow.
Karen, confused but maternal, intervened.
"Boys, calm down. The important thing is Will's here and not serious."
But the air stayed tense.
Mike looked at Will one more second, hurt and confused.
Then looked down.
Chance looked at Will, with a small smile only he saw.
Will took a deep breath, sitting again.
But he knew this wasn't over.
Mike wouldn't forget.
And the truth, sooner or later, would come out.
Will just sighed, deep and tired, feeling all eyes on him.
"I want to shower and sleep," he said, voice low but firm. "We'll talk tomorrow."
No one stopped him.
Joyce gave him one more hug, tight but gentle, like she feared breaking him. Jonathan ruffled his hair. Nancy said to leave dirty clothes outside the bathroom for washing. Karen insisted he take something for pain. Mike... Mike just looked at him, with that mix of anger and worry Will knew too well.
But before going to the basement, Will looked at Chance.
"I'll walk you out," he said.
Chance nodded, relieved.
They went out the front door together. Night air was cold, biting, but Will barely felt it after the house's stifling heat.
They walked to the truck in silence, gravel crunching under shoes.
Halfway through the yard, away from lit windows, Will punched Chance's arm. Not hard, but sharp.
Chance rubbed his arm, faking pain.
"Ow," he said, with a small smile. "Why?"
Will looked at him, serious a second.
"For ringing the doorbell like a maniac," he whispered. "You almost killed me with fright."
Chance laughed lowly.
"Sorry. But no regrets."
They reached the truck. Chance opened the driver's door and got in, window down.
Will approached, glancing at the house. Curtains still. No one watching. Or so he hoped.
He tempted fate.
Leaned into the open window and kissed Chance.
Quick, but deep. Lips on lips, hand on Chance's nape a second.
When he pulled back, breathing close, whispered:
"Though I'm still mad... I loved the date."
Chance smiled big, eyes shining under porch light.
"Me too," he said, voice low. "And next one will be better. No falls."
Will laughed lowly.
"Promise."
Chance squeezed his hand a second.
"Promise."
Will stepped back, glancing once more at the house.
Chance started the engine, softly.
And drove off.
Will stood there a moment, watching taillights disappear down the dark street.
His heart pounded hard.
From fear.
From guilt.
And from Chance.
He went inside, up to the bathroom, showered quickly with hot water washing away mud and blood.
Got into the basement mattress.
And though his head hurt a bit, and he knew tomorrow there'd be questions...
He fell asleep with a smile.
Because for the first time, he had something worth hiding.
And protecting.
Will spent the rest of Sunday at home. In the basement. On the mattress. Barely moving.
Three reasons kept him there.
One: his whole body hurt from the fall. Head throbbed with dull pain behind eyes, back stiff, arms and legs full of bruises he hadn't seen in the tunnel's dark. Every quick stand sent a stab reminding him he'd fallen three meters onto hard earth.
Two: he'd gotten sick. October's icy lake did its job. By morning, throat scratchy, nose stuffed, low fever making him shiver under the blanket. Joyce took his temperature—100.8—and no argument: bed, soup, aspirin, absolute rest.
Three: he didn't want to talk to anyone.
Didn't want to face the questions he knew were coming. Mike had been weird since last night, looking like he expected a confession. Joyce tried talking morning-soft, maternal, but Will just said "I fell, Mom, I'm fine" and turned to the wall.
Jonathan came down a couple times, bringing tea and asking if he needed anything. Nancy left a book on the nightstand. Even Holly peeked in, offering a unicorn drawing "to get better soon."
But Will just wanted quiet.
And to think about Chance.
The lake. The picnic. The almost-kiss. The fall. How Chance got him out, risking himself.
The promise of the next kiss.
That they were boyfriends now.
Though no one knew.
Though he barely believed it himself.
He stayed on the mattress all day, blanket to chin, staring at basement ceiling. Body pain and fever kept him still, but mind raced.
Every eye close, he saw Chance's face under the moon. Felt hands on waist. Heard husky voice saying "I want to be your boyfriend."
And smiled, even if head hurt.
Joyce came down midday with chicken soup and more aspirin.
"Eat something, honey," she said, sitting on mattress edge.
Will sat up slowly, obedient.
Joyce watched him silently as he ate.
"Want to tell me what really happened?" she asked finally, voice soft.
Will looked down at bowl.
"I fell," he repeated. "Into a hole. Chance helped me out."
Joyce nodded, but Will knew she didn't fully buy it.
"That boy... Chance," Joyce said. "He seems good to you."
Will felt cheeks burn, even with fever.
"Yeah," he murmured. "He is."
Joyce smiled small.
"When you're better... maybe you can introduce him properly."
Will nearly choked on soup.
Joyce laughed lowly.
"Just saying. Glad to see you smile, even a little."
Will didn't respond, but smile escaped anyway.
Sunday passed slow.
Pain. Fever. Quiet.
And Chance's memory, warming him inside.
By night, Will felt a bit better.
Enough to look forward to Monday.
And what came after.
Especially with Lucas and Dustin—they wouldn't be happy about Will hanging with Chance.
Will's head started hurting again.
Chapter 11: A little cold.
Summary:
Will talks with the group about the tunnels.
Notes:
I heard about the fake ending theory... if that's the case, I hope for my showdown between Will and the Mind Flayer.
Chapter Text
On Monday, Will was already feeling better.
The fever had gone down overnight, and though he was still a bit sniffly and his throat scratched when he swallowed, he could move without his whole body hurting. The bruises from the fall were visible: a purple one on his arm, scratches on his neck and cheek, a small cut on his temple that Joyce had cleaned and covered with a band-aid.
He left the house with Mike and Holly as usual. Holly rode her little bike, humming away, oblivious to the tension. Mike rode beside Will, hands gripping the handlebars tightly, staring straight ahead.
He barely spoke to him.
A dry "good morning" when they came downstairs, and nothing more.
Will felt guilty for yelling at him Saturday night. It wasn't his style. But Mike had accused Chance of something awful, and Will couldn't stay quiet.
Still, the silence weighed heavy.
They dropped Holly at elementary school and headed to Hawkins High.
When they reached the entrance, Dustin and Lucas were already there, leaning against the wall.
Dustin raised his hand in greeting.
"Hey, survivors!"
Lucas smiled.
But as they got closer, the smiles faded.
Dustin was first.
"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, pointing at Will's arm and the scratches on his neck.
Lucas stepped closer, frowning.
"Bruises. Scratches. Vecna? Military? What?"
Will sighed, trying to downplay it.
"I fell," he said. "Saturday night. Into a hole in the woods. Nothing serious."
Mike, standing beside him, crossed his arms and looked at the ground, saying nothing.
Dustin raised an eyebrow.
"A hole? And how'd you fall into a hole at night?"
Will shrugged.
"Lost my balance. It was stupid."
Lucas looked at Mike.
"You know something, right? What really happened?"
Mike pressed his lips together.
"Ask him," he said, voice dry. "Or his new 'friend.'"
Dustin and Lucas exchanged a glance.
Will felt his cheeks burn.
"It's not what you think," he said, voice low.
Dustin sighed.
"Will, just... be careful, okay? With everything going on."
Will nodded.
"I know."
The bell rang.
They went inside.
But Will knew the questions wouldn't end there.
And that Chance was waiting in some hallway.
With a smile that made it all worth it.
Will walked down the main hallway at school with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. The usual morning bustle surrounded them: lockers slamming shut, laughter, shoes squeaking on linoleum, the smell of cheap disinfectant and cafeteria coffee.
Will was still a bit sniffly. His throat scratched, and every sneeze sent a stab through his head from Saturday's fall. But he felt better than Sunday. At least he could walk without dizziness.
Mike walked beside him, silent like all morning. Dustin and Lucas talked about something from AV club, but Will barely paid attention.
Then he saw them.
At the end of the hallway, near the basketball team's lockers.
Andy and Chance.
Andy was talking loud, gesturing with his arms, face red with anger. Chance leaned against a locker, head down, staring at the floor like he wanted it to swallow him. He didn't respond, just nodded now and then.
Will felt a knot in his stomach.
But then Chance looked up.
His eyes met Will's across the hallway.
And Will saw Chance was just like him.
Eyes red, swollen. Nose sniffly, a bit red. Skin pale from the cold. A crumpled tissue in his hand.
At least he wasn't the only one who'd gotten sick from the icy lake.
Chance tried to smile—a small, tired, but genuine one. He winked quickly, almost imperceptibly.
Will felt his heart flip. He smiled back, even if just for a second.
Andy kept scolding, oblivious.
"...and if you keep disappearing like that, the coach will bench you from starting, got it? You can't just..."
Chance looked down again, nodding.
Will passed by with his group, but the knot in his stomach didn't go away.
He wanted to go to him. Ask if he was okay. Hug him right there.
But he couldn't.
Not yet.
Dustin snapped him out of it.
"Hey, Will, you see that? Andy chewing out Chance like he's his dad."
Lucas laughed.
"Bet Chance was late to practice or something."
Mike said nothing, but Will felt his sideways glance.
The day was just starting.
And Will was already counting the hours until he could see Chance alone.
Even if just to sneeze together.
Will had PE last period.
The basketball team practiced in the same gym, so the teacher let him sit on the bench: still sniffly, scratchy throat, visible bruises from the fall. "Don't want you passing out mid-court, Byers," he'd said with a grin.
Will sat in a secluded corner, behind the folded bleachers, where no one bothered him. He pulled out his notebook and started drawing to pass the time.
Most of the drawings were of Chance.
At first, innocent: his profile under the lake's moonlight, the mischievous smile when he hid to surprise him, torso wet emerging from water, droplets sliding down skin.
But then... more intimate.
Chance in a towel in his room, the night he returned the red shorts: towel low on hips, wet hair dripping on chest, water line sliding down stomach. Will had drawn every detail he remembered: shoulder curve, muscles defined by dim light, satisfied expression seeing him in his clothes.
And from the lake: Chance in black swim shorts, water to waist, hair plastered to forehead, body gleaming under moon. Arms outstretched, smile promising good trouble.
Some bolder: Chance's hand on his waist underwater, bodies pressed, legs intertwined. Will drew the heat he'd felt, even if just lines on paper. The way Chance looked like he wanted to devour him. Tension before the almost-kiss.
He blushed just remembering. Pencil moved fast, capturing every shadow, drop, glance.
He was so lost in lines he didn't notice the shadow until it blocked the light.
He looked up.
It was Chance.
In practice uniform, hair messy, nose red, eyes a bit swollen from cold. He dropped beside him on the bench without a word, like it was the most natural thing.
Leaned against Will's side, shoulder to shoulder, arm brushing arm.
Will tensed immediately.
The gym was full: team running, ball bouncing, coach yelling instructions. PE classmates exercising on the other side.
Someone could see them.
But Chance didn't seem to care. He rested his head a bit on Will's shoulder, like he was exhausted.
"What are you doing here?" Will whispered, voice low and nervous, glancing around.
Chance spoke without moving, voice hoarse from cold.
"Coach benched me," he whispered back. "Said I'm useless if I can barely breathe running. 'Go sit and don't get in the way, Romanillos.' Saw you hiding behind the bleachers and... thought: if I'm sitting, better with you."
Will let out a low laugh, less nervous but still watchful.
Chance lifted his head just enough to look at him, with that small, tired smile.
"What are you drawing?"
Will closed the notebook fast, cheeks burning.
"Nothing," he said too quickly. "Stuff."
Chance raised an eyebrow, amused.
"You used to show me everything."
Will shook his head.
"These... are private."
Chance didn't push, but his smile grew, like he knew exactly why.
They stayed there, shoulder to shoulder, watching practice from the corner.
Chance sneezed once, covering with his arm.
Will laughed lowly.
"Told you. Hypothermia."
Chance glanced sideways.
"Worth it."
Will felt heat rise up his neck.
And though the gym was full, for a moment it felt like they were alone.
Like at the lake.
Like in the truck.
Like in Chance's room.
Just them.
And that, for now, was enough.
Chance didn't move from his side. Kept leaning against him, shoulder to shoulder, his body heat seeping through the practice shirt. The gym stayed noisy: balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking, coach yelling "defense, defense!"
But in that corner behind the folded bleachers, it felt like a world apart.
Will held the notebook tight to his chest, like a shield.
Chance glanced sideways, with that small, cold-tired smile.
"Show me one," he said, voice low, almost a whisper so no one else heard. "Just one."
Will shook his head, cheeks burning.
"No... these are different."
Chance raised an eyebrow, curious.
"Different how?"
Will swallowed. Couldn't say it. Not there, with half the school meters away.
Chance seemed to get it wasn't just shyness. He leaned closer, warm breath on Will's ear.
"Did you draw me?" he asked, voice husky, playful but also... hopeful.
Will felt his heart flip. Didn't answer, but silence was answer enough.
Chance smiled bigger, eyes shining despite the cold.
"I want to see," he insisted, softly. "Please. Just one. To know how you see me."
Will glanced around. No one looking. Coach busy with team, classmates running, no attention to dark corner behind bleachers.
He took a deep breath.
Opened the notebook slowly, hands shaking.
Flipped pages fast—innocent ones first, dragons, landscapes—until one not so innocent.
Chance at the lake. Wet black shorts, water to waist, hair plastered to forehead, droplets sliding down chest. Moon behind, lighting every body line.
Chance went quiet a second.
Then let out a low, breathless laugh.
"God..." he murmured. "You make me look... good."
Will closed the notebook fast, red to ears.
"It's not that big a deal," he stammered.
Chance looked at him, suddenly serious.
"It's a lot," he said, voice low. "I like how you see me."
Will felt air escape him.
Chance squeezed his hand a second, hidden between them.
"Save the others for me," he whispered. "When we're alone."
Will nodded, speechless.
The bell rang finally, freeing everyone.
Chance stood slowly from the bench, hand brushing Will's a second longer than needed. Sneezed again, covering with arm, let out a hoarse laugh.
"Got to get back to the team before coach kills me," he said, voice low. "But... thanks for the company."
Will smiled, nervous but happy, stashing notebook in backpack.
"Me too."
Chance leaned in a bit, like he wanted to say more, but glanced around—gym still full of people packing—and held back.
They looked at each other a second.
Before leaving, Will took a deep breath and spoke fast, voice low.
"Hey... I heard a movie's coming out soon. The Heathers. Seems... interesting. Want to go with me?"
Chance raised eyebrows, surprised but smile growing.
"Are you asking me on a date, Byers?"
Will felt cheeks burn.
"This time I pay," he said, trying to sound sure. "Made some money doing chores for classmates and... a couple commissioned drawings."
Chance laughed lowly, eyes shining.
"Deal," he said. "Heathers sounds perfect. Dark, funny, and romantic... like us."
Will laughed too, relieved.
"Great."
Chance glanced around once more, making sure no attention.
"See you later, usual spot," he whispered. "And... thanks for the invite."
He pulled away slowly, with one last look promising more.
Will sat there a second, watching Chance rejoin the team, coughing a bit but back straight.
Smiled to himself.
A real date.
At the movies.
Paid by him.
And though the cold lingered, Mike was still mad, tunnels below...
For the first time, the future looked bright.
Will rode happily to WSQK.
Despite the lingering cold, despite bruises hurting when walking, despite tension with Mike. He rode happy because he'd called the urgent meeting himself. Because he had something to contribute. Something useful.
The tunnels.
He pedaled ahead of the group—Mike, Dustin, Lucas—cold wind whipping his face but he didn't care. Felt like, for the first time in a long while, he was truly helping. Not just listening or sensing distant things. But bringing a solution.
When they arrived at the radio station, Steve greeted them at the door with his usual smile.
"You're just in time," he said. "Everyone's inside already."
They went in.
The place was full: Joyce, Jonathan, Nancy, Robin in the booth turning off music, Steve flipping "on air" lights off. Hopper and Jane in a corner, disguised as always—low cap and big hoodie.
Will saw Jane and didn't think.
Went straight to her and hugged her tight.
Jane tensed a second, surprised, but hugged back, hands on his back.
"Hi," she whispered.
Will felt eyes sting.
"Sorry," he said softly. "Last time... I wasn't very affectionate."
Jane smiled small.
"It's okay."
They pulled apart, but the hug left something warm in Will's chest.
Quick greetings: hugs to Joyce, pats from Jonathan, worried "you okay?" from Hopper.
Then down to the station basement—safest spot, no windows, where they kept maps and old gear.
Will pulled photos from his backpack: same ones from lab in '84, copies he'd kept. His drawings of tunnels, branching under Hawkins like black roots.
Spread them on makeshift table.
"The tunnels," he said, voice firm. "They're all over Hawkins. Sealed on surface, but down there still. Military doesn't watch them all. We can use them to move without being seen. Cameras, patrols... nothing would detect us."
Pointed spots on map.
"And if memory serves... there's an entrance in the woods, near here. Behind WSQK."
Group quiet a second, processing.
Joyce smiled, proud.
"It's brilliant, honey."
Hopper grunted approval.
"Could work."
Nancy taking notes already.
"Entries, exits, safe routes..."
Dustin slapped Will's back.
"Genius, Byers."
Lucas nodded.
"This gives us an edge."
Will felt chest swell. For first time in long while, felt useful.
But then the question.
Steve, casual:
"And how'd you rediscover it?"
Will opened mouth... nothing came.
Mike spoke first, voice dry.
"One of his nighttime escapades with his 'little friend.'"
Basement tensed.
Dustin frowned.
"What little friend?"
Mike crossed arms.
"Chance. Mia's brother. Basketball team. The one with Jason."
Dustin turned to Will, angry.
"Seriously, Will? Hanging with one of those psychos?"
Will felt blood rush to face.
"Chance isn't a psycho!" he said, voice loud. "None of the team knows about Vecna. They don't know what really happened!"
Lucas looked serious.
"They hunted Eddie."
Will shook head.
"And what would you have done if someone killed Max like that?" he asked, looking Lucas straight. "Oh, wait. Max went through exactly what Chrissy did. And now she's in a coma. How do you feel, Lucas? Don't you want to kill Vecna with everything?"
Lucas pressed lips, eyes shining.
"I want to kill him," he said, voice low and furious. "With everything."
Will nodded, not looking away.
"Exactly. That's what Chance felt. He didn't know the truth. No one on the team did. They were scared kids, Lucas! Like us."
Dustin shook head.
"Not the same, Will. They hated us. Hunted us."
Will turned to him.
"And we don't hate sometimes? Don't mess up? Eddie died because of what they believed! And Chance lost Chrissy! She was his friend. You know what it's like seeing someone you care about die like that, so brutally, and not understand why?"
Mike stepped forward, voice sharp.
"It's not about that, Will. It's that you disappear. At night. Alone. With everything going on. Vecna's still out there! And you go out like nothing!"
Will looked at him, anger rising.
"I don't go out 'like nothing'! I go out because I need to breathe! Because here everyone looks at me like I'll break any second! Like I'm still the kid who came back from the Upside Down!"
Joyce tried intervening, voice soft.
"Boys..."
But Will didn't let her.
"No, Mom. I have a right to friends! To a life! Chance doesn't know about Vecna! He's not a danger! The danger is not letting me be me!"
Lucas spoke, calmer but tense.
"Will... we get the pain. I get it. But... do you trust him? Really?"
Will took deep breath, looking at everyone.
"Yes," he said, firm. "I trust him. More than a lot of people."
Basement silent.
Joyce looked at Will, catching more than words.
Hopper grunted.
"Tunnels good idea," he said, cutting tension. "But careful. And no one alone."
Will nodded.
No one alone.
But in his mind, thought of Chance.
And knew that rule, sooner or later, he'd break again.
Because he couldn't not.
That night, Will slipped out again.
The cold still bothered him—stuffy nose, scratchy throat—but not enough to stay in. He needed to see Chance. Needed to feel something in his life was his, not shared with Vecna, the group, constant fear.
He went to basement door carefully. Jonathan on couch, supposedly asleep. But Will swore no snores. Silence too perfect.
He paused a second at back door.
"Back soon," he said low, like talking to darkness.
No response.
But Will felt Jonathan letting him go.
He went out, pushed bike through yard, pedaled to usual spot.
Streetlamp lit empty sidewalk, solitary yellow circle in night.
Chance was there, waiting. Leaning on post, thick jacket, hands in pockets, nose red from cold.
When he saw Will, smiled—that tired but genuine smile.
Will couldn't help it.
Let bike fall to ground with soft thud and ran last meters.
Kissed him.
No warning, no thinking, hands straight to Chance's face, fingers tangling in cold-damp hair. Lips on lips, urgent, hungry.
Chance surprised a second—eyes open, body tense.
But then matched intensity.
Chance's hands dropped to Will's waist, gripping hard, pulling until no space between. Kiss deepened, desperate: tongues meeting, breaths mingling in hot gasps against cold night. Chance tilted head, deepening more, one hand to Will's nape, fingers gripping, guiding.
Will moaned softly against his mouth, body pressing to Chance's by instinct, hips brushing, heat rising fast despite cold seeping clothes.
They kissed like days apart, like world could end any moment. Swollen lips, ragged breaths, hands roaming backs, waists, necks.
When they pulled apart finally, panting, foreheads together, Chance laughed lowly, voice husky.
"Hello to you too," he whispered, lips brushing Will's speaking.
Will laughed too, trembling—half cold, half desire.
"Couldn't wait," he admitted, voice low.
Chance nipped his lower lip softly, just a second.
"Not complaining."
Hugged him tight, face buried in neck.
Will felt something inside settle.
This was his.
Chance didn't treat him like fragile glass. Didn't look at him like "the kid who came back from hell itself." Didn't see him weak.
Saw him.
And wanted him for who he was now.
Not who he'd been.
Or what he'd survived.
Just Will.
They stayed hugged under streetlamp a long while, cold forgotten, world distant.
Chance kissed his temple.
"Everything okay?" he whispered.
Will nodded against shoulder.
"Now yes."
Chance laughed lowly.
"Welcome to my world, Byers."
Will smiled.
And knew that, though tomorrow questions, group still worried, Vecna still there...
Tonight, it was enough.
Chapter 12: The Heathers
Summary:
Will and Chance have their first date as an official couple.
Notes:
In my defense for having posted. Work has me exhausted, I have ideas for this fic, but I need time to be able to structure them, and I have an idea for another fic, which would be Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will each having a relationship with 4 of the basketball team members: Mike with Jason, Dustin with Andy, Lucas with Patrick, and Will with Chance. And the reason I have this chapter is because of: ArleyKo, you made me feel bad... even so, I love you, keep commenting.
Chapter Text
Will was excited about the movie date.
The Heathers wasn't coming out until March '88, so they had almost a whole month ahead. A full month of waiting that, paradoxically, felt both eternal and fleeting at the same time.
The days turned into a sweet, secret routine.
School.
Hallways full of noise, lockers slamming, teachers talking about equations or the French Revolution. Will and Chance crossed paths "by chance" several times a day: a shoulder brush in the cafeteria, a lingering look in shared class, a folded note Chance slipped him discreetly during class change ("see you tonight"). No one seemed to notice anything. Or so they hoped.
Mike was still distant. He didn't talk much to Will, and when he did, it was curt, like he was still mad about the argument at WSQK. Will felt guilty, but not enough to stop seeing Chance.
Chance.
The nights were theirs.
They slipped out with extreme care: Will waiting for Jonathan to "sleep" (though he wasn't fooling him anymore), Chance parking the truck a few streets over. They met at the streetlamp, in the woods, or straight in the truck to go somewhere secluded.
They talked about everything. Chance asked about the drawings ("did you finish that lake one yet?"), Will asked about the team ("is Andy still mad?"). They kissed a lot: slow at first, then more urgent, hands under clothes for warmth, but always stopping before going too far. "When we're ready," Chance repeated, and Will nodded, even though desire burned inside him.
They touched more: caresses on the neck, kisses on the collarbone, hands exploring under shirts. They learned each other's bodies slowly, with nervous laughs when something was awkward, with gasps when it felt right.
Will drew more. Whole pages dedicated to Chance: in the truck, under the streetlamp, asleep in bed after an exhausting night. Some were so intimate he hid them even from himself.
The tunnels.
The group met several more times at WSQK.
Will helped build the map: remembering routes from memory, drawing possible entries, marking weak points. They used old photos and careful new explorations (always in pairs, never alone). Hopper and Jane monitored military frequencies. Nancy organized shifts. Steve and Robin brought food and jokes to ease the tension.
Will felt useful. For the first time, his connection to the past served something concrete.
But he also felt like he lived in two worlds.
The group's: tunnels, Vecna, constant fear.
Chance's: kisses, laughs, movie plans.
And though the two worlds stayed separate...
Will knew they'd collide sooner or later.
The month passed like that: school, Chance, tunnels.
Slow when he was away from him.
Fast when close.
Until March came.
And with it, the date.
The Heathers.
And the promise of something more.
Will had told Chance that morning, in one of their hidden school spots—behind the gym, where no one passed.
"Today after school... go with the truck," he whispered, nervous but determined. "But park close. On the back street, where the dirt path is. So I can bike there quick and not run into anyone."
Chance looked at him, getting the plan instantly.
"Okay," he said, voice low. "And your friends?"
Will swallowed.
"That day I have math alone with Mike last period. I'll tell him I'm heading out solo today. That someone knows I'm not going straight home, so they don't worry. And before he asks anything... I run."
Chance smiled, that mischievous smile that made Will's stomach heat up.
"Perfect. I'll wait."
The day dragged.
Will barely paid attention in class. Drew in notebook margins: Chance under the moon, Chance smiling, Chance kissing him. He blushed just thinking about it.
Last period: math. Sitting next to Mike, as always.
Teacher talking quadratic equations. Mike taking notes, serious.
When the bell rang, Will packed fast.
"Hey, Mike," he said, voice casual but hurried. "Heading out solo today. Not going straight home."
Mike looked up, frowning.
"Where?"
Will was already standing, backpack on shoulder.
"Dunno, just a ride around. See you later."
And he ran before Mike could ask more.
Ran through hallways, dodging students, heart pounding from adrenaline.
Out the side door, grabbed bike from rack, pedaled fast to back street.
The blue truck was there, engine running, Chance at wheel with a huge smile.
Will jumped in, closing door.
Chance pulled away smoothly, no noise.
"Well done," he said, laughing lowly. "No one saw you."
Will let out held breath, laughing too.
"Thanks," he whispered. "Didn't want to... explain."
Chance squeezed his hand a second, eyes on road.
"You don't have to explain anything. It's us."
Will smiled, leaning back in seat.
And let himself go.
Chance and Will arrived at the Hawk Theater as the sun set, tinting the sky soft orange reflected in morning rain puddles on Main Street. Air smelled of wet asphalt and distant popcorn, flickering red faded letters on marquee: "The Heathers – Today." Will's stomach churned with nerves, but good nerves—like before a group adventure, without supernatural fear.
Chance reached for wallet at ticket booth, fingers in back pocket.
Will stopped him with soft hand on arm, smiling determined.
"No. I pay this time," he said, voice firm but sweet, pulling out saved money from chores and commissioned drawings. "That's why I saved all month."
Chance looked at him a second, brown eyes shining under theater lights, smiled with tenderness making Will's stomach butterflies flutter.
"Okay, Byers," he whispered, pocketing wallet. "You call shots today. I like seeing you like this... decisive."
Will felt cheeks burn, but smiled bigger.
"Good. Two tickets up top, dark corner," he said to ticket lady, older woman giving knowing smile.
Paid, entered lobby: strong burnt popcorn and butter smell, sticky floor from spilled sodas, faded old movie posters on walls.
At concessions, Chance ordered large popcorn.
"Extra butter," he said with mischievous smile to vendor. "Right, Will?"
Will laughed.
"Yeah. And two Cokes. Reese's Pieces for me... M&M's for him."
Chance raised eyebrow.
"How'd you know I like M&M's?"
Will shrugged, playful.
"Saw you eating them at lunch once. I'm observant."
Chance laughed low and warm, leaning to whisper in ear.
"Observant... I like. Keep observing me."
Will felt nape tingle.
Paid everything—saved money worth every cent—and entered theater.
Almost empty: Friday afternoon, new but not blockbuster. Chose top row, darkest corner, screen light barely reaching, shadows covering like protective veil. Seat old, worn velvet, but sat close, armrest up to share popcorn. Butter smell filled air, projector hum in background.
Lights dimmed gradually, theater sinking into gloom.
Chance leaned to Will, voice low against ear, warm breath brushing skin.
"Thanks for inviting me," he whispered. "My first real date... as boyfriends."
Will felt heart flip, skin goosebumping from whisper.
"Mine too," he admitted, voice shaky. "With you."
Chance smiled in dark, teeth flashing white a second, squeezed hand moment.
Movie started with New World Pictures logo, theater filling with upbeat music and Winona Ryder's voice as Veronica.
Will fell for Veronica instantly: smart, sarcastic, trapped in cruel world of cliques and falseness she didn't fully get, writing diary about absurdity.
"That's me," Will whispered in scene where Veronica fakes fitting with Heathers. "Trying to survive high school."
Chance laughed lowly, sound vibrating against shoulder.
"And I'm JD," he murmured, in scene Christian Slater appears as new rebel. "The one coming from outside shaking everything. With a little less dynamite, I hope."
Will smiled.
"A little less," he said. "But you shake everything same."
Chance glanced sideways, screen light painting face blue and red.
In intense scene, Veronica and JD first kiss—passionate, urgent, against wall—Chance took Will's hand in dark.
Will intertwined fingers without thinking, squeezing hard, pulse racing.
Stayed like that awhile: hands linked, shared popcorn, muffled laughs at dark satirical moments.
Chance thumb circled back of Will's hand, slow, each caress sending electricity up arm. Will felt every touch like fire, body leaning to Chance unconsciously.
In darker scene, screen red from blood, tense music rising, Chance leaned more.
"You like it?" he whispered, lips brushing Will's ear, warm breath raising skin.
Will nodded, voice shaky.
"A lot. Veronica's... like me. Strong inside, but pretending outside."
Chance laughed lowly.
"And JD's me. Outsider shaking everything."
Will turned head, faces inches in absolute dark.
"You revolutionized everything," he whispered, lips brushing Chance's speaking.
Chance smiled, eyes gleaming in gloom.
And in theater dark, with movie background—Veronica narrating inner chaos—they kissed.
Slow first, lips brushing soft, exploring. Then deeper: tongues meeting urgent, breaths mingling hot gasps against other's mouth. Chance tilted head, deepening, hand to Will's nape, fingers tangling hair, gripping possessive. Other hand on Will's thigh, squeezing soft over pants, inching up.
Will gasped against mouth, free hand on Chance's chest, feeling heart pounding under shirt. Leaned more, deepening, body fully toward him, armrest forgotten, hand dropping to Chance's waist, brushing skin under shirt.
Kiss urgent: swollen lips, ragged breaths, hands roaming—Chance up Will's arm, Will down Chance's hip, gripping.
Lost in it, world reduced to dark and heat between, movie distant noise.
Until theater door slammed open at bottom.
Hallway light flashed blinding, footsteps echoed stairs, creaking old floor.
Someone late.
Will and Chance separated fast, like burning, kiss cut sharp.
Will straightened in seat, heart pounding two reasons now: kiss and fear. Chance released hand, but left brushing in armrest, hidden under popcorn box.
Older couple climbed stairs slow, searching seats, murmuring about lateness.
Passed close, but didn't look—focused finding spot.
Will felt cheeks burn, breath still fast, lips swollen.
Chance laughed lowly, voice husky.
"Almost," he whispered, warm breath on ear again.
Will laughed too, nervous, pulse still strong.
"Almost caught."
Chance squeezed hand again, hidden.
"Worth the risk," he said, voice low, eyes on screen but smile just for Will.
Will smiled in dark.
And back to movie.
But hands didn't separate more.
Fingers intertwined.
Thighs brushing.
Constant whispers.
When movie ended—with final dark satirical scene—exited lobby lights on, blinking like returning harsh reality.
Will looked at Chance.
"Loved Veronica," he said, smiling. "She's... like me. Trying fit but knowing not. Strong, but faking weakness survive."
Chance laughed.
"And I JD. Outsider blowing everything. But... without final boom, hope."
Will glanced sideways, playful.
"Thought you'd be more like Ram and Kurt. Jock idiot always horny, you know. Throwing balls talking girls."
Chance faked offense, hand to chest dramatic.
"Me? Idiot?" he said, voice loud. "I'm sensitive jock reads poetry, drinks coffee rainy days, falls for weird artists."
Will laughed hard, sound echoing empty lobby, gave soft shoulder push.
Chance looked serious suddenly.
"Thanks for date," he said, voice low. "Perfect. Better any movie."
Will felt cheeks burn.
"You made it perfect."
Out to parking, March night cold wrapping, air smelling imminent rain.
In truck, before starting, Chance leaned kissed again.
Slow, sweet, tasting butter and Coke.
Will reciprocated, hands on Chance's nape.
When separated, breathing close, Chance smiled against mouth.
"Round two soon," he whispered. "Maybe place no interruptions."
Will laughed.
"Whenever."
And drove off, blue truck lost in Hawkins night.
Promise many more dates.
Many more kisses.
Chance dropped Will two houses away, as always, avoid suspicion.
Truck stopped soft, engine off whisper. Chance looked Will second more, eyes shining under streetlamp.
"See you soon," he whispered, leaning quick but sweet kiss.
Will reciprocated, hand on cheek second.
"Soon," repeated, smiling.
Got out, backpack shoulder, watched truck pull away.
Walked remaining two houses heart pounding strong, mouth still tasting butter and Chance. Happy. Floating.
Entered back door, expecting scolding: Joyce worried, Mike mad, questions where been.
But nothing.
House silent. Only kitchen light on.
Will peeked.
Joyce and Karen at table, tea cups, talking low.
When saw him, both looked up smiled—that flirty, suspicious smile making Will cheeks heat.
"How'd it go, honey?" Joyce asked, voice soft but eye gleam.
Karen smiled too.
"Mike said you went out with your friend."
Will felt stomach drop. Never told Mike going out with anyone. Just "going out."
"Uh... good," he stammered. "Went movies. Saw one we wanted."
Joyce and Karen exchanged quick glance, smiling more.
"Good," said unison, tone saying "we know more than you say."
Will felt atmosphere weird, like moms shared secret.
"Going... basement," he said quick, making excuse. "Draw bit."
Ran downstairs, heart pounding something not fear.
Down.
Jonathan there, on couch, looking camera and printed photos low table. Dim lamp lit focused face.
When saw Will, smiled.
"Hey," he said. "How'd it go?"
Will sat mattress, taking jacket off.
"Good," he said, voice low.
Jonathan looked second, nervous, like wanted ask but not how.
Will sighed.
"You can ask whatever," he said. "Know you want."
Jonathan deep breath, setting camera.
"Remember what I said California?" he asked, voice soft. "No matter what, always my little brother. Always love you. Support everything."
Will nodded, heart pounding strong.
"Remember."
Jonathan breathed again.
"You and... Chance? More than friends?"
Will felt fear second—old fear judged, lose. But looked Jonathan: sincere eyes, pure love expression.
"Yes," he said, voice firm though shaky. "Boyfriends. Couple weeks. Started... day fell hole. When arrived hurt dirty."
Jonathan quiet second.
Will waited worst.
But Jonathan smiled.
Big. Happy. Love in eyes.
"Happy for you, Will," he said, voice emotional. "Since knowing that guy... seem more alive. More you. Smile real. That guy's good for you."
Will felt eyes sting.
"Thanks," he whispered.
Jonathan laughed, close ruffle hair.
"But doesn't mean accept him boyfriend yet," he said, faking serious. "Not till meet judge own eyes. Not letting little brother date jerk. No matter how cute."
Will laughed, relieved, happy.
"Deal," he said. "Introduce soon."
Jonathan smiled.
"Better."
Stayed talking awhile, everything nothing.
And Will felt, finally, real ally.
At home.
In family.