Chapter Text
-----
Life is crowded. Life is busy. Life is... good enough.
College classes take up most of Will Byer’s time. Art projects strewn about his room from the floor to his desk to his bed. Graphite, oil pastel, ink. Jonathan knocks on his door to tell him dinner is ready, so he must hastily finish up his class project for the day and rush himself out of his bedroom into the small NYC apartment he shares with his older brother. Their dinner chats are always full. Jonathan has about a hundred different things to share about his movie project he’s still working on this past year. Apparently home-movies take a lot of work to complete, who would’ve thought. Will nods along, listening as he stuffs his face with the first proper meal of the day.
Sometimes, Jonathan shares pictures and short videos of his monthly visits to his group of friends. Nancy, Robin and Steve always made such big plans together. It always looks so inviting and warm. They all have the biggest smiles and make all sorts of inside-jokes. Will feels his chest tighten and his stomach drop in jealousy every time Jonathan brings it up. The memories of his own friends crowding the back of his mind; how he misses the community with them. The jokes, the D&D nights, the fun. He misses his friends. He misses Mike. He hates that he misses Mike the most; even after everything.
Other days his brother must attend his own classes for studying film and photography, so Will is alone to fend for himself in the kitchen. By no means does Will dislike cooking; but he wouldn’t say he’s very good at it. Most of his time is spent at his desk scratching over his papers for class instead of practicing what proper meal he should be making.
When his schedule opens enough for more leisure activity, Will is finding himself spending more time at the Grill&Bar down the road. Busying his thoughts with loud resturant chatter and overpriced non-alcoholic drinks. The place is close to campus so every weekend it’s practically full to the brim with many people he recognizes walking about the campus building during the weekdays.
He’s met a few guys since they moved to NYC. Most of them were simply stupid flings. A few dates that rarely went further than some hands exploring each other’s bodies. That’s all it has ever been. Someone flirts with him openly enough for Will to blush and nod along, batting his eyelashes like he actually cares about what this guy thinks. It leads to a free drink; sometimes alcoholic without checking his age, and a long night of meaningless chatter over the bar noise that becomes overstimulating to Will way faster than it does others. They talk about their majors, their dreams. The other male will always end up bringing up their own past even if Will doesn’t ask. He never asks.
And what can Will say? When they turn the question back to Will. He never knows what to say.
Where did you grow up? Oh Hawkins, that’s cool. Wasn’t that place like, in the news for an earthquake? What was it like? I heard they had a cult too, was that true? Just rumors? Oh that’s cool. Hey, wanna get out of here? Back to my place?
His fingers always twitch against the cold glass of his half-drank cup of something fruity. A forced smile plastered on his face as he considers the same offer he’s heard a few times now. It’s like a dance at this point. A never-ending cycle of emotionless flirting and a steaming encounters in someone’s dorm room or apartment that hardly linger on his mind the next day.
He feels the touch. He feels the lips on his neck, the hand down his pants. But there is nothing else. No flutter of his heart, no twinge of near painful desire in his gut. It’s nothing but a physical connection that rarely lasts more than ten minutes most nights. It was difficult at first and he wasn’t sure why. His mind would fog over and he went through the motions without fully feeling like he was experiencing it. No one seems to notice his lack of full engagement; though. The horny college student always too distracted with their own need for a quick release between stressful classes to truly care about the context of a stranger’s dissociation during sex.
He’s gotten good at doing what others expect of him now. He knows how to fully make-out, how to drop to his knees, how to suppress his gag reflex. Sometimes; he doesn’t even remember how the night went. Like a part of him just cares so little—or doesn’t want to recall the emotions that it brings up. Other times; he feels a weird sense of disconnect as it happens. His arms loosely wrapped around the shoulders above him while hazel eyes simply stare at the ceiling over the other’s shoulder. The sensations are there—but his mind isn’t. More often than not; Will doesn’t even finish and his partner for the night often doesn’t even notice. Will has gotten good at misdirecting the other’s attention fast enough for them not to notice the lack of mess on Will.
Afterwards, when he’s alone in the apartment, Will finds himself scrubbing his skin much too hard in the shower. A filthy grime left on his body that he can’t seem to get rid of. Memories that flash in his mind he can’t move past as strangers get to enjoy his body without Will experiences the same feeling. Something is always there in the back of his mind while it happens. Something these guys just wouldn’t understand. How many times does he need to do it before the flashing of black vines and voice of bile stops berating his memories? When do fingers on his bicep start to feel like the hands of someone interested in him and not the rough, dangerous fingers of a clawed monster?
How many times does it take until sex becomes fully enjoyable to him? How many experiences does he need until it feels like his mind is present during it? He wonders about these things in the dead of night, his eyes burning and exhausted as he stares at the art on his walls.
He shouldn’t be so picky for the attention; he tells himself. It’s rare to find someone open enough to display their interest in men so he should take what he can get. Even rarer to find a guy of Will’s taste: Dark hair, preferably curly. Dark eyes. They should have a goofy smile, and maybe freckles too, if he’s lucky. Taller than Will is a non-negotiable trait. Slender fingers, too. He should be good at making decisions so Will doesn’t have to think too much.
One day; he is indeed lucky.
While rushing out of the classroom with arms full of his papers and two shoulder bags full of supplies; he tries to cross the campus fast enough to make it in time to his lecture on neoclassical art history when he runs directly into another person. Both stumble as Will’s supplies fall to the floor. “Oh shit--” He quickly gathers his things.
“Oh, sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Says a deeper voice above him. Long fingers help to gather the stranger’s art supplies. Will’s hazel eyes glance up, blinking slowly. For a second—only a second— time freezes.
“Mike?”
“Oh- uh... no, my name is James.” The stranger offers with a goofy smile.
Will blinks with a surprise shake of his head. “Shit- sorry. You... reminded me of someone.” He grabs his last things off the floor as he stands. His eyes settle on the stranger. Tall, slender, pale skin. Dark hair with a wavy texture that is quite short with a few longer strands along his forehead. Will’s cheeks feel warm.
And that’s when he met James. They kept in contact after that. Meeting up after classes and sharing coffee at the small coffee shop within the campus. This time it was different, he could tell. Will’s heart would flutter gently as they talked. James would ask him personal but light questions that were easy to answer. He would walk Will out of the campus back to his apartment he shares with Jonathan and they would kiss at the doorframe before saying their goodbye for the day.
Jonathan peers from the kitchenette with raised brows at his younger brother. “Oh, who was that?” He asks, a teasing tone to his voice.
Will shoots him a shy smile with a pinkness to his cheek as he shrugs, “Just... someone I met. We’re kind of hitting it off, I guess.” He felt embarrassed to say it out loud.
Jonathan offers no judgement, however. Only a smile as he turns back to the dish he was currently cooking. “That’s great, Will.”
And it was great. For the first few months Will was truly starting to think he had found a proper relationship. They started officially calling each other boyfriends now. Between both of their busy schedules, they seem to always make time for at least one date a week. It’s the first guy to have ever shown interest in Will that was more than something only deemed a physical one-night-stand. It’s easy to fall into the trap of emotional connection when you’re so deeply starved for it, Will realizes eventually. There’s always been a hole in his heart he’s tried to fill. From watching all his friends fall in love years ago in front of his very eyes while he sat on the sidelines; to watching the love of his life make out with his step-sister in the other room. There has always been a longing to feel that experience.
And James was the first one to offer it; Will took it.
The sex part was good. It was the best so far, even. James cared more about his experience than his previous flings had. The touches of his hands were gentle and caring. His eyes were soft when they gazed into Will’s own eyes; hazel full of sorrow and deep untold stories they don’t share. Everything feels gentle. Almost too gentle. Will should be happy—he should be grateful to have found someone who looks at him like he’s a partner; not just an experience for the night.
So why does he feel so much fucking guilt when they lay in bed together after it all.
They’re in James’ apartment, lying together naked on his bed after what Will could only describe as an overly tender night. Will’s eyes count the spots on the popcorn ceiling in the dim light. His mind gathered in an entirely different plane of existence as he lays on his boyfriend’s bed; half covered by the blanket.
Did he finish? Technically, yes. Does he feel satisfied? No, he feels anxiety. His gut curled in on itself again as if begging him to allow a feeling of nausea to take over from guilt. Earlier when James was hovering above him; sweat on his brows and a flushness to his face, with hips moving in a less-than-ideal rhythmic pace; Will had imagined those freckles and dark curls belonged to someone else. The orgasm he got from it was the strongest he’s had since this all started. It was the first time his mind wasn’t thinking of dark vines sticking to his skin or claws on his cheeks—his mind only wondered to a specific someone he shouldn’t be thinking of. A poison on his heart that slowly takes away his life points in a video game every time it aches for the longing gaze of his best friend's eyes.
“Hey, you alright?” The words cause Will to twitch back to reality. “You’re doing that... thing again.”
“Huh?” Will’s head turns to look at James—who has already sat himself up against the headboard of the dorm bed.
“This... thing.” James vaguely gestures in Will’s direction; an action that causes Will to visibly blink in surprise and hurt. “when we have sex. You do this.”
“Do what, James?” Will asks, head tilted in genuine confusion as he sits up as well. The blanket bundles at his bare waist.
“This attention seeking thing. Where you, like,” the hand gestures again in a less than gentle manner, “get all quiet and shit. I thought you were just nervous, but we’ve done it a lot now. What’s wrong with you?”
Will blinks slowly. His mind processing the words being said in a manner way too slowly for his boyfriend’s attention span.
Wrong with him...
What isn’t wrong with him? The kidnapping? The torture that looms over him like a heavy rain cloud that never disperses? The constant memory of his first sexual experience, forcibly taken from him as a child? How every time James touches him like he might break Will is reminded of how pathetically fragile he must look to others? Oh, he has an entire list of responses that loaded question.
“That! See? It’s like you’re not fully here with me. If I'm that bad at sex just say so.” James flings his legs off the bed now to face away. His voice is nothing short of someone frustrated with the way it barks at him in the quiet room. Will flinches.
Shaking his head, Will scoots after James, hand reaching out to touch his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Will quickly says too quickly, “I didn’t realize I do that.” His fingers squeeze his boyfriend’s shoulder; a silent begging of forgiveness.
A lie. He’s fully aware of his own dissociation.
A heavy sigh escapes from James, “How do you not realize? You do it every time. It’s like you just go through the motions with me. Do you even like me, Will?” He turns to Will. His eyebrows are furrowed heavily, and his mouth squishes to the side in a way that resembles Mike way too closely for Will’s comfort. Hazel eyes widen slightly at the sight and his hand recoils suddenly.
“O-Of course I do!” Will scoots to sit beside James fully now, placing his hand in the other’s as he intertwines their fingers in a way that feels like he’s gripping through concrete. “I like you more than anyone else I’ve liked before.”
Another lie.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try to be more present, I swear. I’m just... stressed from class work, that’s all.”
Lie number three. Wow, he’s gotten good at this.
This seems to satisfy James—who leans in to plant a kiss to Will’s lips and offers a defeated smile, nodding. “Okay, baby. So, it’s not because I’m bad at sex, right?”
Will laughs a forced sound, “No, it’s great, James.” Well, it’s mediocre at best.
His boyfriend gives him a firm squeeze to his thigh over the blanket, nodding. “I’m gonna shower.” He walks the short distance from the dorm bed to the small bathroom at the end of the room. Will is left to sit in unbearable silence. A tension both in his shoulders and his gut he can’t seem to get rid of no matter how deeply he tries to exhale. Hazel eyes glance down at his lap; fingers shaking visibly as he rolls them over each other in some attempt to sooth himself.
For a second—he imagines Mike’s hand on top of his shaking ones. Strong, large palm gripping the entirety of Will’s hands and easily soothing them to stop shaking. A wet drop lands on his skin while his shoulders tremble, and he bites his quivering lip. Fuck. What is wrong with me?
That night unfolds into another sleepless night in James’ bed. His boyfriend snoring obnoxiously loud as Will lays still as a stone on his side. Their shared goodbye in the morning is short and sweet for one boy and a raging, painful guilt for another.
...
He’s grateful the following week was entirely booked with his studies. Art classes keeping his hands busy while non-art classes keep his brain busy in-between. It’s a Thursday evening now. Will sits in his own apartment at the small dining table. Open textbooks full of markers and papers sticking out in nearly every page. His left elbow on the table with the same hand holding his own head up; fingers causing his hair to become messy from the way they sprawl over his head in frustration. James sits in the living space; blasting both the TV and the radio while he reads from his own textbook out-loud to himself.
The noise is unbearable. Will’s foot taps wildly on the hardwood floor below him. He’s re-read the same sentence at least six times now yet not a single lick of the information could be taken out of him even at gunpoint. Finally, he drops his pencil with a frustrated sigh.
“James, can you please turn this noise down? I cannot focus like this.” Will’s voice comes out strained with frustration.
His boyfriend peers over the old couch, “Huh? Oh. Sure.” He shuts off the TV he clearly didn’t even realize was still on and turns down the radio. The softened noise is like a damn Christmas present to the thumping in Will’s head. He sighs in relief, “Thank you.”
“Mhm.” James says, suddenly approaching Will at the table. “Hey, you’ve been studying for hours. Let’s take a break.” His hands urge Will to stand up despite the reluctance to put down the textbook he’s hardly even studied despite the time frame that slipped through his fingers.
“I’unno James, I really should keep studying...” He tries to urge himself back to the textbook but James loops an arm around him to tug him closer.
“Don’t be silly, you’ve had your head in that book for like, three hours.”
Lips are suddenly on his own. James kisses him in a lazily fevered way that tells him exactly what’s on the man’s mind in this moment. Fingers behind his neck to keep him in the kiss as Will’s hands simply rest between them on James’ chest; fingers twitching as his brain fights between pushing James off so he can study or to let it happen.
The guilt creeps up from his stomach. He tries to convince himself it’s the feeling of butterflies. It’s the twisting of your stomach when you feel intense desire; not the curling of reluctance and emptiness. James’ messy kissing turns to his jaw now; quickly making it’s way down his neck. Will bites his lip at the corner, but his eyebrows furrow as he glances to the unstudied textbook he wasted three hours re-reading.
“James, I should really keep studying.” He says over the man’s shoulder. His fingers squeeze the other’s shirt when a particularlly good bite happens at the edge of his neck.
“All you do is study.” The other tries to retort against his skin. He pushes closer, locking Will between the wall and his body. His breath is hot and wet against his neck. Will wishes that gave him a shiver of pleasure and not a reminder. A reminder of burnt lips whispering vile things in his ear. He squeezes his eyes shut to brush away the memory before it creeps too deeply into his eyes.
Will is gently pushing against the other’s chest now to force distance, a stern look on his face despite the slight flushness to his cheeks. His full lips just barely parted; those top bunny teeth peeking through, “I have an important exam in a few days.”
“See? That’s exactly why we should stop for the night. Get some exercise in.” James takes hold of both wrists pushing at his chest to move them up against the wall. His grip is firm and posture demanding the attention Will isn’t willing to give in this moment. For a second—the hands that grasp his wrist aren’t hands. The feeling of cold, slimey vines tighten around himself. It coils around his wrists, his legs, his neck, his thighs. They spread him. Hold him in place.
He doesn’t realize how heavily he shoved James until the other has stumbled back against the kitchen table with a genuine grunt of surprise.
Will’s eyes widen. His hands flash up with palms out to immediately calm the anger he knows he’s about to get. “Fuck-- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to push you like that—I---”
James adjusts himself, annoyed expression directed at the floor. “Sheesh, Will. I just don’t get you.”
“...W-What?”
“One moment you’re so snuggly and adorable and the next you look at me with the most disgusted expression when my hands are on you.” James crosses his arms tight over his chest, stern and annoyed gaze landing on Will in a way that makes the younger boy sink into himself against the wall. Feeling like a bug under a rock being observed. A disgusting creature full of tainted memories. His skin feels vile in this moment. Like his body doesn’t belong to him as he’s judged by someone who had an entirely normal childhood.
Even in another city; Will feels wrong.
“I...” Will starts.
James continues, “I mean, when my friends told me you were easy I pictured that meant you know what you like. And you’re so cute too, adorable even. But I just can’t read you, man.”
Will slowly blinks, mouth slightly gaped, “... Easy?”
A silence too long lasts between them as James stares at him with one cocked eyebrow.
“Yeah, like, easy. You get around. No shame in that, I do too. But that’s why I don’t get why you seem like you don’t like when I try to engage with you physically, it’s confusing me, William.”
The word repeats in Will’s head. A meaningless word from James. A word full of the worst memories for Will.
Easy. Easy.
You were so easy to break, William.
Will brings a hand to his face; covering his eyes as he squeezes them shut behind the safety of his palm. He attempts to block out the voice in his head that sounds like bile and the devil himself. Will forces himself to inhale slow and exhale deeply, steeling his nerves as he straightens himself. He’s desperate to grasp at any distraction to get him out of this moment. Out of the feeling like he doesn’t belong to his own body.
“I’m sorry, James.” He forces the words out, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes sets on his features. “You’re right, I’m too stressed lately.” His hands take hold of his boyfriend’s as he closes the space between them. “I can study tomorrow.”
Whatever worries James has for what goes on within Will’s mind doesn’t seem to bother him enough to continue to pry about it. Perhaps James doesn’t want to know. Will is grateful; because he doesn’t want to tell. “Stay the night, Jonathan is gone until morning. Let me make it up to you, please.” Just don’t leave me to fester in my own thoughts. I don’t want to be alone; even if it means settling for something I barely want. Just do something with me to keep me from thinking.
His arms wrap around his boyfriend’s shoulders with ease. The other is barely taller than himself. He doesn’t even have to step on his tip-toes to hug his shoulders—not like with...
This time when James kisses him Will returns it with more force than before. Hands move less-than gracefully over each other’s form and sounds are coming from his own throat he doesn’t even recognize as his own. His heart doesn’t flutter. It doesn’t beat faster. The only thing that encourages his body to respond is the natural feeling of warm skin touches skin when his back hits his own bed.
By the time they’re done and his boyfriend is snoring obnoxiously as always; there is heavy rain pattering against the apartment window. The sound is loud enough to almost drown out his boyfriend’s snoring. Almost.
Forcing his eyes closed, Will tries to let sleep take over. He’s not sure how long it takes; but the large raindrops pelting his window pane seems to lull him into a deep sleep. The distant roaring thunders gather closer as he slumbers. Until the vibrating thunders reach his dream.
Everything is a deep, hallow blue. Temperature like the opposite of what he imagines Hell to be. Frozen, lifeless, bitterly cold. It’s a frozen wasteland without ice. But by no means is it not his own personal Hell. Roaring thunder claps in the distant skies painted with hallow blues and frightening red. The only sinners here doomed to all eternity is himself and the man standing in front of him. Burnt skin all covered in tree-like branches that create the resemblance of a human figure.
Will tries to swallow; but his throat is obstructed. Something long blocks his airways; tightening his throat and chest as it moves and pulses against the insides of his body. His mouth stretched too far around it as he chokes a noise. The long vine pulsates in a way too similar to something else as thick, slimy substance passes through the long vine down his throat directly to his stomach. Tears are spilling from his wide eyes; blood dripping alongside them down his cheeks.
“Such a good boy.”
The voice croaks out from destroyed windpipes made of vines and burnt human fibers. Long nails gracefully slide along the jawline of Will’s face. Down the side of his stretched neck where he tenderly grasps him. Will’s skin burns hot and painful under the touch like it physically seers his skin.
“You always made such an easy vessel for me, didn’t you?”
Henry’s voice peeks through the horrible sound of Vecna’s gargled tone of bile.
Blackened vines snake up his feet along his ripped, dirtied pants. They curl under the fabric and continue to spiral around his knee, up his thighs. Will’s legs tremble but they he can’t move them. Teary, bloodied eyes squeeze tight.
“Relax, William. The more you struggle, the more it will hurt, my boy.”
Will’s eyes are squeezed tight—but he can still see the disgustingly self-satisfied smirk that places on Vecna’s features behind his eyelids. A vine curls further up his thigh.
A roaring thunderclap jolts him awake.
Sweat drips down his forehead as he gasps desperately for air. Something cold touches his skin as he blearily blinks his eyes. The floor; he’s on the floor. Gasping deeper, Will struggles to sit himself up as the room flashes with a bolt of light from outside—immediately followed by a thunder that has him jolting and covering his ears with a deep sob.
“Wha--” A voice sleepily comes from behind him. James tries to rub his eyes open as he struggles to sit up. It feels like his brain rolls over itself as he tries to register the scene in the dark room. Will trembling on the floor, hands over his ears, pitifully sobbing. His body jolting from another especially loud crackle from outside.
“Woah, dude. You scared of thunderstorms?” James slowly moves his way to the edge of the bed to lean forward and press his palm to his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Oh, shit you’re like, fully trembling.” His voice is full of genuine surprise. James moves to the floor, arm wrapping around his boyfriend. Suddenly—the other jumps into his form. A hug so tight from the smaller it forces the air out of James’ lungs with a pained grimace. “Jesus, relax.”
“St-stop t-ta-talking.” Will barely mutters out. As his eyes squeeze tight and he buries his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder; he imagines. Just for a moment... he imagines it’s not James holding him. That the dark curls above him and the scent of cedarwood doesn’t belong to his boyfriend. But it’s wrong. The arms around him aren’t tight enough. They don’t provide him protection. He doesn’t feel safe, he doesn’t feel loved. He feels used. By the man who haunts his dreams and by the man who urges him for sex any time he gets bored. The slender fingers around him don’t grip his hair or his clothing for dear life. It’s all wrong. Will is wrong.
Another thunderclaps painfully loud outside. Will flinches hard, burying his face further into the crevice of his boyfriend’s neck.
The hand on his back awkwardly pats and rubs his shoulder. A chuckle comes from the other’s chest, “I’ve never seen someone this terrified of thunderstorms. You’re so cute.”
The words feel like he’s been cut open at his gut and someone reached inside him to grasp his guts with a forceful grip and dug around. Rearranging everything until his organs sit entirely different than they had before. Things pushed around to fit something that doesn’t belong there. Will shoves James away as he wipes tears from his red face.
“Get out.” Will’s voice is cold. It demands no argument.
“What the fuck?” James returns with heated confusion; his arms still hanging out where they had previously been rubbing his boyfriend’s back. Shaking his head in confusion, James stands.
“Go home. I want to be alone.” Will mutters quieter this time; voice hardly steady. His legs are brought to his chest and he wraps his arms tightly around them. Closing himself off from the conversation.
“You’re going to make me leave in this thunderstorm, are you serious?”
Will doesn’t respond. The silence irks James even more; who rolls his eyes with a heavy huff of frustration. He gathers his clothes in a hurry.
“I’ll... see you tomorrow, baby.” James tries to offer one glance back before he fully exits the bedroom’s doorframe. As if offering one last chance for Will to ask him to return. But Will only nods once. Soon, the front door clicks shut and Will is left with only the thunder and his own thoughts. His forehead rests on his knees, tears dripping still from his closed eyes while shoulders shake violently. The sobs that rip through him are much deeper now that he’s alone. Full of nothing but pain and unresolved sorrow.
“Mike, I wish you were here...” Fingers grip his own hair; tugging so violently at the roots he’s sure he’s pulled a few strands out. “I can’t even handle a nightmare without you.” He sobs to himself. Sleep doesn’t dare take over until his body has become so spent from the effort of his shaking and sobs. He falls into a light slumber while leaning against his bed when the storm dies down into mocking rumbles of thunder in the distance.
...