Chapter Text
Love Will Tear Us Apart.
That was the song playing in the art room today when Chance came in. He knew it from the mixtape Will had given him a few weeks ago. Chance had spent an embarrassingly long time studying the music. He had planned on bringing up his new music knowledge today with Will after practice, but he was currently focused on sliding his hands up Will’s shirt.
His teeth grazed Will’s neck and the other boy made that sound that drove Chance insane.
They had been doing this for almost three months now. They saw each other almost every day after Chance’s practice and some times on the weekend when Will was able to make up an excuse to pull away from his friends. It seemed easier for Chance to disappear for the weekend than it did for Will. Chance didn’t have to tell anyone what he was doing instead because nobody had asked.
Will slides his hand into Chance’s hair and pulls it away from his neck.
“We were supposed to talk.” He says, his face flushed and patchy.
Chance pouts slightly, “Talking is boring, Byers.”
He rests his hands on Will’s thighs. Their current position would be pretty incriminating if someone walked in anytime soon. Chance was positioned between Will’s legs as Will sat on one of the long tables in the art room.
“Am I gonna see you this weekend? They’re doing late-night shows at the movies.” Chance runs his knuckle up and down the length of Will’s thigh.
Will shrugs, running a hand through Chance’s hair. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Mike wants to start this new campaign and I-”
“Oh god.” Chance groans and rolls his eyes.
Will drops his hand and shoves Chance back slightly. “Don’t ‘Oh God’ me. I don’t complain when you talk about sports.”
“Sports are fun. DnD is-”
“Also fun!” Will interrupts.
Chance clicks his tongue and reaches for the knob on the radio, turning it up slightly. The DnD vs sports conversation was unfortunately one of their weak spots. It’d start with simple teasing, but Chance would always say something that hits a bruise left on Will.
Chance’s friends were also one of those weak spots. Will didn’t understand why he kept them around. Sometimes, Chance understood the sentiment. Other times, he saw Robert Mendoza eating alone at lunch and was glad he at least had somebody in his corner. Even if those somebodies were assholes in letterman jackets.
It’s not like he could integrate himself into Will’s group. They hated him. For good reason, Chance knew that. But it still stung whenever they caught him looking at Will and started to guide the other boy away from his gaze.
“You should try it some time.” This was new.
“DnD?” Chance asks.
Will just nods, his hands gripping the edge of the table between his legs.
Chance thinks about that for a moment. Playing DnD with Will and his friends sounded like some pipe-dream. The idea of being crammed in Mike Wheeler’s basement with that group created a pit in Chance’s stomach. How was he actually supposed to face them? Unfortunately for him, Will somehow had the ability to read his mind.
“They’re not gonna say anything to you.”
“They should.” Is all Chance could manage.
He wasn’t stupid. He knows what he’s done to people. No amount of need for acceptance could fully cover up what he’s done.
“You’re not like the rest of them, Chance. Let them see that.” Will curls his fingers around the sleeve of Chance’s jacket.
Chance looked up at him, “Your friends are smart. They would never give me the time of day.”
“They don’t hate you,” Will says quickly. “They’re just… tired. And scared. And they don’t really believe people like you could be different.”
Chance winces a little at that before looking at the ground.
“I want them to see you,” Will says. His voice is steady, but it means everything to Chance. “The way I see you. I want you to give them that chance.”
God damn that William Byers optimism. If this was anyone else in Chance’s life, he’d turn away without a word.
“I’m very convincing, you know?” Will says after a moment.
“Oh are you?” Chance smirks.
“I am. I was able to convince you to like me.” Will cocks his head, pulling Chance closer.
All Chance could do was shake his head as he stepped back between Will’s legs. “It didn’t take much convincing.” He says.
They press their lips back together. This kiss isn’t like the one from earlier. It’s gentle, with Chance cupping Will’s face in his hands. There’s no rush, just comfort and warmth. Kissing Will has felt like a full journey to Chance. He used to be so much more hesitant, but it’s like he’s literally felt the boy unravel under his hands.
They both let themselves enjoy it, finally allowing themselves to want this. However, the question still lingers on what this is.
Will tilts his head, and Chance follows without thinking, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
When they finally pull apart for air, Will rests his forehead against Chance's. A habit he’s seemed to pick up from Chance. And of course Chance notices this.
“I’ll think about it.” He whispers, still out of breath.
Will’s eyes open wide, pulling away slightly so he can really look at the other boy. “Seriously?” He asks, almost yelling.
“Seriously. I’ll think about it.” Chance first regretted saying it, but seeing the smile on Will’s face, quickly washed the regret away.
Will tugs Chance into a hug, wrapping his arms around his neck.
Chance allows himself to melt into the hug, his arms wrapping themselves around Will’s waist. He digs his nose into Will’s hair and inhales.
This could work. He could play DnD with Will’s friends and show them that he’s not so bad. He can change. He can prove it to others, but also, most importantly, himself.
Will pulls away from the hug, but Chance still keeps his arms draped around the other boy’s waist.
“I’ll need to know soon because we’ll have to work on your character.” Will says, smiling softly.
“My character?” Maybe this was a bad idea.
Will smirks. “You have no idea.”
—
Once Chance’s feet hit the bottom of the staircase he felt an immediate urge to turn around. This was wrong. This was so wrong.
He clutches the sleeves of his letterman’s jacket; which he should’ve left at home, but he’s an idiot.
This all felt too weird and foreign to him. Not because he’s scared, but because this all felt way too important. He desperately didn’t want to mess this up.
For a second, he thought about what his friends would say if they knew how nervous he was to come face to face with the boys he’s watched get shoved into lockers.
The smell of the basement quickly takes forefront in his mind. It smells mostly like dust and pizza, but in there he recognizes the scent that usually sticks into Will’s hair and he relaxes.
A folding table is set up in the middle of the crowded basement. There's pillows and small pallets on the ground, which is where Chance assumes Will has been sleeping. The table is covered in a board with binders, drawings, and maps. He recognizes Will’s art style from what feels like a mile away. At the head of the table… Will.
Chance’s heart rate instantly picks up when he sees him.
Will is standing, hands spread on either side of a hand-drawn map, explaining something to Dustin next to him. Chance has only ever seen this confidence in late nights at the art room or in Chance’s bedroom after they share a beer.
It’s like he’s perfectly in his element.
Lucas is the first to notice him.
“Hey, Chance!” He says, “You made it.”
He grins and steps forward, offering a hand out to Chance like this happened every weekend. Chance shakes it, a small amount of relief washing through him.
Lucas and Chance weren’t best friends by any means, but they hung out at practice when Chance’s friends got too loud. After he started hanging out with Will, Chance found himself seeking Lucas out at school more often. It was like a simple way to show Will’s friends that he wasn’t completely evil while still keeping his image up in front of his friends.
They’d run drills together in the echoing gym, while also trading half-serious trash talk during scrimmages. They’d crossed paths at a couple parties too. It seemed like they both went just because it felt like they needed to. Chance had been skipping out on those too recently due to a new boy in his life.
They weren’t close by any means, but that familiarity soothed a little of the churn in Chance’s stomach.
“Will said you might come. I thought he was joking.” Lucas adds.
Chance laughs nervously, “I made the mistake of asking about it in art. Now I’m here.”
That was the lie Will and him had come up with when Will was at his house a few hours earlier. Will and Chance were apparently working on some big art project together and that’s why they had been around each other.
At least that’s what Chance thinks Will said. He was a little too busy with his mouth moving up and down the other boy’s neck.
Lucas laughs and offers the chair next to his.
Before Chance can sit down, Dustin looks up at him.
His stomach drops as he sees the new bruise decorating Dustin’s cheekbone. He doesn’t need to ask who left it. He knows.
“So,” Dustin says, voice tight, “are you here to, uh… spectate? Or do we need to, like, explain everything from the dawn of time?”
“Maybe the dawn of time option.” Chance attempts a joke. He can’t tell if it lands or not because Dustin quickly looks away.
The door to the basement opens again and Mike Wheeler walks down the stairs. His arms are crossed and he doesn’t look at Chance. The air in the room feels heavy.
Chance swallows. “Will explained to me how to play,” he says quickly. “But I can just watch if-”
“It’s kind of our thing,” Mike cuts in, arms still crossed as he sits in his seat. He doesn’t sound that angry, but also not ready to welcome Chance in.
Chance can see Will’s smile flicker for a second and he so badly wishes he could lace his fingers with his under the table.
“He’s okay,” Will says, soft but firm. “I’ve explained everything he needs to know. And he wanted to try.”
Try and prove he’s somebody else, was the underlying message.
Chance is completely aware of the double entendre in Will’s words.
He nods, heart pounding in his head. “I don’t want to mess anything up,” he adds. “I’ll follow whoever’s lead.”
Dustin snorts. “Bold promise, man.”
Lucas shoots Dustin a look. “C’mon guys. We can always use another player.” He sounded entirely too confident in Chance, but Chance appreciated the opportunity.
Mike hesitates, but finally gives in, sighing. “Fine, but if you derail the campaign-”
“He won’t.” Will says quickly. Too quickly.
It feels like everyone in the room noticed the tone shift.
Will looks at him then, eyes warm and grateful. Chance is quickly reminded of why he’s here in the first place. He places his foot on top of Will’s under the table.
“We gonna play or what?” He says to the group
Chance listens closely as Will explains the setting, nodding along, asking questions only when he’s sure they’re welcome. He watches how the others react. He finally got to see their real personalities instead of the small bursts he sees at school.
And Will. He sees Will.
At times it was like Chance couldn’t even pull his eyes away to focus on the game, because he was too busy focusing on Will.
He’d never seen Will like this before. The closest he’s ever gotten was when Will would throw himself into his art. He looked like he was actually the center of something instead of hovering at the edges.
Chance knew Dustin was funny, but underneath the humor, Chance catches the tightness in Dustin’s eyes. The way his jokes come out just a little too fast. His eyes always flick to Chance, as if he expects Chance to snap and turn into some raging jock.
The realization clicks slow and heavy. These are the kids his friends make fun of. These are the jokes that land wrong in the hallways.
It makes his stomach twist.
Midway through the game, Mike pauses. “Okay, you hear footsteps ahead. What do you do?”
Chance’s character could move on alone. It would be safer. Smarter.
He glances at the table. Mike looks laser-focused on the game in front of him, Dustin grins, pained at the edges, and Lucas waits calmly. Will looks to Chance, watching him with quiet trust.
“I wait,” Chance says. “Make sure everyone’s ready.”
Mike nods, just once. But it feels better than any championship Chance has ever won.
By the end of the night, Chance’s shoulders don’t feel quite so tight. Mike still watches him carefully, but he’s stopped frowning every time Chance looks back at him. It’s a small win.
Everyone seems to be tired in a good way. It settles in Chance’s bones and makes the large basement feel much smaller.
“Okay,” Mike says, flipping his binder closed and giving a tight lipped smile to the table. “We’ll stop there. You made it through the tunnels, nobody died, somehow-” he eyes Chance, “and you only mostly set the cave on fire.”
“That was strategic,” Dustin says, already gathering his dice. “Fire solves most problems.”
Lucas is the first to scrape his chair across the floor, scooting back. The others all start moving at once. Chance helps Will collect the empty soda cans, tossing them into a bag. He can hear Mike and Dustin whispering about something quietly. It’s most likely about him, but he can’t really blame them.
Chance always seemed ready to be liked and pleased. His image was important to him. It felt like camouflage anyway. But he’d never wanted people to like him like he wanted this group of kids to. It doesn’t logically make that much sense to him. He understands more why they wouldn’t like him. The jacket, the people he stands next to in the halls, and the fact that he’s always been adjacent to the damage instead of blocking its path. If he were them, he probably wouldn’t trust him either.
Still, the want sits in his chest. It makes him feel heavy and nauseous. He wants Mike to stop watching him like he's waiting for something to go wrong, or for Dustin to feel comfortable enough to actually make jokes around him without the fear of getting made fun of.
He knows he doesn’t need their approval; he’s survived long enough without it. The realization dawns on him that he wants it because they matter to Will. Maybe that’s selfish. Maybe it’s stupid. But he keeps thinking if he can just be careful enough, kind enough, useful enough, then they’ll see past the assumptions he’s forced them to make about him.
Lucas claps him on his back and pulls him out of his thoughts, “You walking?”
“Yeah,” Chance says.
“Cool. See you, Monday.” Lucas says easily. It felt like he actually meant it, which made Chance smile. The other boy leaves as Chance tucks the last soda can into the bag.
“You were good.” Will’s voice was so quiet that Chance almost missed it.
He meets Will’s eyes and the other is already smiling at him.
Dustin glances over between them, then shrugs. “You didn’t derail the campaign. Which puts you in, like, the top ten percent of people.”
“Top ten percent? I’m flattered, Henderson.” Chance laughs softly.
With that, Dustin gives the room a two-finger salute before walking up the steps.
The tone in the room shifted. It was like Mike wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge that Chance was there. From what Will had told him, Chance knew Will was the closest to Mike. He was definitely the one who guarded Will the most from Chance’s longing glances at school.
“You should come back.” Will says unexpectedly.
“Like, play again?” Chance crosses his arms over his body, cocking his head.
“Yeah,” Will answers. “Dont you wanna see how it ends?”
Will smirks, and suddenly Chance never wants to go to another Saturday night party again.
“That’s true.” He was shocked at how quiet his voice came out.
A few quiet moments go by where Chance just watches Will. He’s collecting things and putting the binders back together. Chance would help, but he’d have too many questions to actually be considered useful.
He waits until Mike is far enough away so he can lean closer to Will.
“You wanna come over tomorrow?” He whispers.
Will looks over his shoulder and blushes. “I do.”
Chance glances over at Mike, who’s hunched in front of the bookshelf across the basement. The taller boy takes this opportunity to place a hand on the small of Will’s back.
“Maybe you could stay the night? Teach me some DnD tricks.”
Blood rushes into Will’s cheeks and ears. It makes Chance’s heart beat a little quicker.
Will snickers quietly. “That’s not really how that works.”
Mike starts to turn around, so Chance pulls his hand away.
He watches Will and thinks, without hesitation, that he wants to see Will like this all the time.
“Thank you for the game, Mike.” Chance says across the room.
Mike nods, stiffly. “You should come back.”
Chapter Text
Will barely makes it through Chance’s bedroom door before he pulls Chance into a kiss.
The kiss is clumsy at first. Their teeth clash and their breathing is random, quick inhales and exhales before pushing their mouths back together. Chance’s hands squeeze Will’s waist under his shirt. His skin is soft and smooth. Chance feels like he could get addicted to the feeling of his hands on the other boy’s skin.
Will makes a soft, surprised sound and kisses harder in response. It feels like they’re making up for their time spent so close yet so far the night before. They’ve always fit together better than Chance expects.
They’re not rushing. They’re desperate.
Chance stumbles backwards, pulling Will with him. They landed on the soft mattress, Will straddling his hips. Chance’s hands immediately squeezed Will’s waist, holding him in place.
Chance’s mouth is warm and insistent, like he’s trying to say something that he doesn’t even have the words for. Will grips Chance’s shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. It felt like he was grounding himself to prove that this was actually real. That Chance was actually here.
But Chance was here. And he was choosing Will.
“Hey,” he murmurs against Will’s mouth, “You okay? This okay?”
Will nods immediately, breath shaky. “Yeah. Yeah, I just…”
He pulls his head back a little, looking down at Chance. He runs a hand through the boy’s black hair, panting.
Chance’s hands slide down from Will’s waist to his thighs, giving them a comforting squeeze. He’d dreamt about this more often than he would ever admit. Will sitting on him and running his hand through his hair was something straight out of Chance’s imagination.
Chance’s gaze was almost reverent as he looked up at Will, his fingers tracing light circles on his thighs. Everywhere their bodies touched felt like it was on fire. The weight of Will on top of Chance sent his heart racing.
He could’ve swore he saw Will’s eyes darkened when he stared down at Chance. His hands run over his shoulders, then down his torso, pressing into the muscles through the fabric. It made Chance feel like he was literally vibrating.
“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky.
The sight of Will straddling his hips was enough to make his brain short circuit. The way he was looking down at him, flushed with parted lips. It all sent a jolt of arousal through him.
He grips Will tighter, a shallow attempt at grounding himself. Everything felt simultaneously overwhelming and tantalizing.
Instead of responding, Will leans in again.
The kiss quickly deepens right back to where they were.
Chance slides his hands up the bare skin of Will’s back under his shirt, holding him close. Will melts into it, his back arching and his mouth opening wider.
The world narrows until it’s just the two of them.
It’s like Chance suddenly feels it all at once. The weight of Will keeps him on the bed, resting against him. The way Will has trusted him enough to even get this close feels like a miracle to Chance. A sharp painful reminder twists in Chance’s chest telling him he doesn’t deserve it.
His thoughts scatter when Will moves his mouth down to his neck. He kisses and bites softly against the skin. It sends a cacophony of sounds out of Chance’s mouth.
His worry is replaced by a careful kind of awe. He’s used to moving fast, joking his way through moments before they get too serious, but Will has always made these moments feel different.
Moving his hand into Will’s hair, he breathes in slowly.
As Will’s kisses move lower, he slowly reveals more of Chance’s torso by unbuttoning his shirt.
“Will.” Chance gasps out.
Will moves back up to bring their lips back together. It’s messy, both of them panting more than their lips are actually meeting. Chance’s hands slide down to Will’s hips, guiding them against his own, seeking more friction. The sensation was almost too much, and yet, he couldn’t get enough.
He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he buried his face in the crook of Will’s neck. The scent of him, the feel of him, it was all so torturous and addictive.
“You smell good,” he tiredly murmured, his words muffled against Will’s skin. He presses a soft kiss to his pulse point, feeling the rapid beating of Will’s heart under his lips.
Will threads his fingers through Chance’s hair. He feels like he’s shivering in Chance’s arms. This was all so much more intimate and intense in a way that they’d never experienced before.
He tilts his head to the side, giving Chance more access, a soft moan escaping his lips.
Chance’s hand starts to drift without thinking. His thumb grazes the waistline of Will’s boxers. The closeness makes everything feel a little unreal, like he’s moving on instinct instead of thought.
Will stiffens.
“Wait I-” Will gasps, pulling back slightly.
Chance freezes immediately and pulls his hand away, placing it back on Will’s waist.
“Hey. Okay.” His voice came out more steady than he expected. “We can stop. We don’t have to do anything.”
Will exhales, shoulders loosening. He stays there and presses his forehead against Chance’s.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers.
Chance’s thumb immediately moves to Will’s cheek, rubbing small circles into it. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for that.”
“I want this,” Will says, “I just…”
Chance nods without hesitation. “It’s okay. You’re not ready then we’re not ready. I’d be okay just looking at you from across a room.”
Will opens his eyes then, something warm and relieved in his expression. Heat rises to his face and ears in the way that makes Chance’s heart race.
It wasn't a lie. Chance had spent so long staring at Will from afar that the idea he’d ever have him like this was so foreign. If Will truly wanted them to go back to that, Chance would do it. Fortunately for him though, he still had the boy in his lap.
The tension eases and settles into something quieter. Will’s face is tucked in Chance’s neck at his side, while Chance keeps his hands above the belt per request. He rests one loosely on Will’s hip, the other behind his own head.
The house feels different after that, like the air settled into a quieter shape. The ticking clock in the hallway seems like it grows louder and somewhere outside a dog barks once before going quiet again.
Chance’s eyes wander around his bedroom walls. He outlines his The Thing poster with his pupils, then moves to the Eraserhead poster next to it. His eyes focus and unfocus, like he’s trying to lull himself in and out of sleep.
Will shifts slightly, still just as close. Chance notices the way the light has changed, afternoon stretching into the evening. The room glows with a slightly unpleasant shade of orange. It feels like time is slowly easing them back into the day and away from each other. He hadn’t realized how much he really needed this.
“Don’t fall asleep.” Will mumbles into his neck.
Chance squeezes his hip and exhales, slow and heavy. “Wasn’t really planning on it.”
“You say that every time,” Will replies. There’s a small smile in his voice. “And then you’re out in like… two minutes.”
Chance huffs a soft laugh. “Okay, fair.”
He pulls Will closer, if that’s even possible.
“Well,” Chance says after a second, voice low and lazy, “keep me awake then.”
There’s a pause. It’s like he can almost hear Will thinking.
“By talking? Will asks.
“Mhm,” Chance murmurs. “You talk. I’ll listen.”
That gets a quiet huff of a laugh. Will places his hand on top of Chance’s stomach. His shirt never did get buttoned back up after early. He thinks that’s definitely been left alone on purpose.
Will starts with small things. Stuff that feels safe. He talks about art projects he wants to try, then how he keeps seeing the color purple more and more often. Chance can’t help, but start to notice how much purple is scattered around his room when Will says it.
He talks about how certain songs feel like they were written for such personal situations and yet, so many people relate to them. He talks about things he doesn’t like too, like crowded hallways, loud rooms, or how sometimes it feels like everyone got a rulebook he missed.
Chance listens like it’s his job.
He doesn’t interrupt. Just hums occasionally, murmuring small bouts of encouragement when Will trails off like he’s not sure if he should keep going. Of course, Chance wants him to keep going. He wants to stay right here in this small pocket of quiet they’ve created where nothing is being asked of him except to be awake and pay attention.
However, at some point, Chance realizes his eyes have closed again.
“Hey.” Will says softly.
Chance opens one, looking over at Will who’s pulled his face out of Chance’s neck to stare down at him.
“Still listening,” he murmurs, and he really does mean it. Even if he is drifting to sleep.
He can practically feel Will rolling his eyes as he plops back down next to him.
After a few silent moments, filled with only the sounds of their breathing, Will pokes Chance in the side.
“You hungry?” He whispers.
Chance smirks and opens his eyes. “Always.”
—-
By the time the front door shuts and the bags are set on the coffee table, it already feels like a routine.
Chance’s mom kicks off her shoes by the door, hair pulled into a loose bun that looks like it’s been fighting gravity all day. She looks tired in the way nurses usually do. It’s bone deep and strategic. But, she still smiles when she sees Will sitting on the couch with one of Chance’s comic books.
“William!” She cheers. “You beat me home again.”
Will looks up, a little startled, then smiles. “Hi, Mrs. Lawson.”
“I should’ve assumed you were here when Chance told me what we were ordering.” She says, setting the takeout boxes on the coffee table in front of the TV.
Chance helps his mom unpack the cartons, moving around the table with the ease of someone who’s done this exact dance a hundred times. Will stands without being asked and grabs plates from the cupboard, already knowing which ones to use.
Chance can’t help but watch him. He notices his mom watching too, but she doesn’t say anything. It makes something in Chance’s chest twist.
They sit around the small table, Chance and Will on the floor with Chance’s mom on the couch. There’s a movie playing on the TV that he put on, but no one is really watching it.
It all feels so comfortable and familiar. Will listens while Chance’s mom talks about her shift. Chance would squirm whenever the details got too gory, but they never bothered Will. He just nods along in all the right places.
They eat straight from the cartons, passing things back and forth without even speaking. Chance’s mom steals bites off both their plates, like always, and neither of them even flinch.
As they start to pack up all the food, Chance looks over to his mom. “You working late tomorrow?”
“Double,” she says, already standing up and taking her hair out. “So don’t stay up all night.”
Chance just rolls his eyes. “I won’t.”
She gives him a look that says she knows better, then turns her attention back to Will. “You staying over?”
Will glances at Chance before answering. “If that’s okay.”
“It’s okay,” she says immediately. “I like having you over.” She says it so matter-of-factly. Like she has no idea how much it means to both of the boys for her to say that.
Chance knows what she means. He knows she’s thinking about loud voices, crowded rooms, the kinds of friends who track mud in and never notice the mess they leave behind. She never complains. She just… notices. Chance knows she does because he does.
“I like you when he’s around.” She told him one day after Will left.
Chance quickly realized that he felt the same.
His mom starts gathering empty cartons, glancing at the clock. “I’m going to shower before I fall asleep standing up.”
“Night,” Chance says.
“Night,” Will echoes.
She pauses at the doorway and looks back at them, a small smile on her face. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says to Will. Then she’s gone, the sound of running water filling the space she leaves behind.
The kitchen feels quieter after that.
“Dude,” Will says quietly. “I love your mom.”
Chance laughs and laces his fingers with Will’s. “Yeah well, she loves you.”
The sound of the shower fades into the background as they walk into Chance’s bedroom. The house feels much quieter and smaller with Chance’s mom’s voice.
“Thanks for helping,” Chance says, trying to keep it casual.
Will shrugs it off. “It’s fine.”
Chance sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Will, who’s standing nearby “She likes having you here. You know, compared to…” Chance doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn't need to.
Will pauses, just for a second. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Chance reaches forward and wraps his forefinger around Will’s belt loop, pulling him closer. “She worries less.”
Will follows his lead, taking position between Chance’s legs. “My mom’s the same way. She likes you.”
Chance cocks his head, looking up at Will. “Your mom knows about me?” His hands slide to Will’s hips.
“Obviously. I’ve pointed you out at school events and stuff.” Will places his hands on Chance’s face. “She knows where I am right now.”
“Do your friends?”
That was a stupid question, but Chance asked it anyways. This conversation rarely went well between them.
“They’ll warm up to you,” Will says after a moment. “My friends. It just… takes time.”
Chance nods in Will’s hands. “I get that.”
Will hesitates, lips pressed together like he’s trying to hold the words back that he’s about to say. Chance pulls him closer, his hands tightening on Will’s hips.
“But,” Will adds.
There it is.
“But?” Chance echoes, half-smiling.
“It’s hard for them to trust you when…” Will pauses and slides his hands down to Chance’s shoulder. Chance was finding it increasingly hard to focus.
“When you’re still with them.” Will finishes.
Chance’s shoulders tense. “With who?”
“Come on, Chance…” Will steps away and his arms fall to his sides. “You know who. Your friends. Those basketball players.”
Chance exhales. “They’re not all like that.”
“I know,” Will says quickly. “And I know you’re not. I’m not saying you are.” He sits on the bed next to Chance, but what feels like too far away. “I just-... they’ve been hurt by them, Chance.”
Chance’s jaw tightens.
It’s not anger that floods through him, it’s panic. His leg bounces anxiously and his hands coil round his own stomach.
It’s like his brain starts moving too fast, skipping steps and pulling at old instincts he’d thought he’d gotten rid of.
Don’t lose this. Don’t mess it up.
“So now I’m responsible for their actions?” He asks.
Will’s brows furrow at his words and he instantly regrets it.
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you mean,” Chance says, heat creeping into his voice. “You want them to see me, but you also don’t want me to be who I am.”
“That’s not who you are.” Will quickly says.
Chance so badly wants to reach out. To touch Will’s arm, to ground himself in something solid and real. Instead, his hands twitch in his lap. This all suddenly feels too wrong.
“You don’t know what it's like to just stop standing there. To walk away and not lose everything.”
“No, I don’t.” Will says quickly. “But I do know what it feels like to be on the other end of their rampages. I know what it feels like to be terrified to go to school because you just want one good day.”
That lands hard.
It feels like Chance has been split down the middle. One half of him is aching to tell Will, ‘You’re right, I’ll fix it, I’ll be better.’ But the other half is screaming ‘You don’t get to tell me how to survive.’
Why can’t this just be easy? Why can’t he keep Will and keep his armor too?
Chance looks away. “You think I like it?” he says. “You think I don’t notice? I need them to like me, Will. I need that to survive there,”
Will swallows. “And I need to know that you aren’t going to choose them when it matters.”
The words hang in the air for what feels like forever. It’s heavy and suffocating.
Chance laughs weakly. “You make it sound like I’m failing some test.”
“I’m not testing you.” Will’s voice rises. “I’m asking you to think about who you want to be.”
‘I don’t know that yet,’ is what Chance wanted to say. He looks at Will again, his teeth between his teeth. He’s full of fear, it’s sharp and makes his head hurt.
The room feels much smaller now.
Chance rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t want to lose you.” He whispers.
Will reaches forward and squeezes Chance’s hand, once. “I don’t want to lose myself.” And then he pulls his hand away.
They don’t argue anymore after that. Everything still felt unfinished, but Chance couldn’t talk anymore without giving everything away. Were either of them even ready for that amount of vulnerability?
They spent a while in silence. Will reading a comic book on the floor. Chance sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him the answer if he looks long enough. He can feel the mattress dip as Will lays down, the covers being pulled over him.
The house creaks softly around them, the hum of pipes and electricity are the only things keeping the house from being dead quiet.
“They’re all I have.” The words slip out of Chance, his voice so quiet he barely heard it.
He feels the mattress dip again.
Will’s voice was almost just as quiet. “What?”
“My friends. If I walk away, they’re not going to stop. They’ll get worse.”
Will nods, slowly. “Then they get worse.”
“They’ll go after you.”
“Then they go after me.”
Chance snaps his head in the direction of Will. “If you think I’m gonna risk that, Will, then you really don’t get it.”
Will’s mouth forms into a familiar pout. “You could hang out with my friends.”
“Your friends will never see me as one of them. I’ll always just be your…” Chance pauses, searching for the right word to describe what they are. “Friend.” Is what he lands on.
“If I’m on their side, they can’t torment me.”
Chance feels pathetic when he says it. He knows what his friends would say and think if they knew who he really was. He’s heard the slurs that have been thrown around in the locker room. The journey to discovering that he might actually be those things was a painful one.
It wasn’t all bad. That’s the part that no one wants to hear.
Chance knows what they look like from the outside. He knows they think it doesn’t count when they’re cruel and loud. He knows what they’ve done. He knows who they hurt. And that doesn’t just disappear because he wants it to.
But it isn’t all shouting and shoving.
Sometimes it’s rides home when his mom’s working late or buying him food because he conveniently forgot his wallet. They never said anything. It was the late nights where they’d sit on the hood of someone’s car and blast music until an officer had to come over and tell them to stop.
They were there before Will.
They were there when Chance didn’t know there was another option.
It all matters more than he wants to admit.
“I know that sounds awful,” Chance adds after a moment. “I know it does. But it’s true. If I laugh at the right stuff, if I stand in the right spot, if I don’t make myself different-” His voice breaks, but he pulls it together. “They leave me alone.”
Will places a hand on Chance’s shoulder. “Chance.”
Chance doesn’t look back at him. He can’t right now; he knows he’d probably cry and that was just too much for tonight.
“I’m not proud of it,” Chance says. “I hate it. But it works. And I don’t know-” He laughs weakly. “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m strong enough to give that up.”
Will doesn’t say anything. He just nods and moves closer to Chance, which is exactly what Chance needed. He needs to know that Will will stay after this. That he won’t run the second he lets something heavy go. A part of him hates that he didn’t have that much faith in Will in the first place.
Will wraps his arms around Chance’s arm, resting his head on the other boy’s shoulder.
The weight is light, barely there, but it settles something deep in his chest. It doesn’t feel like Will is asking anything of him. He’s not running after Chance admits parts of him he hates most.
He swallows, throat tight. He adjusts slightly, dipping his shoulder so Will could fit more comfortably. His arm comes up without him fully deciding to move it, resting behind Will’s back.
The panic that set between them seemed to loosen its grip.
It doesn’t erase the problem. It doesn’t make the choice any easier. But it gives Chance something to hold onto. Something that tells him that being honest didn’t cost him everything.
Chapter Text
The hallway feels smaller than usual.
People are crowded around Chance at every move like they usually are. He moves through them like a ghost, eyes half on the floor. They flick up every time he thinks he sees Will out of the corner of his eyes. It’s never him.
They haven’t really talked since the other night. It’s been three days and it’s like the world has been purposefully forcing them apart. Where Chance would usually go see Will after practice in the art room, he’s been having later practices or Will would need to head home earlier.
And of course, since these weren’t things they could tell each other out loud, Chance has only been able to get Will’s responses through pieces of paper they shove in each other’s lockers.
At one point, he finally sees Will. He’s huddled with his friends and they’re all watching Mike talk enthusiastically with his hands. He wants to run over. He wants to pretend like nothing happened. But the last few days have been too quiet. It twists in his chest.
In a passing period, Dustin and Mike glance in his direction, giving him a small nod. It’s small, but it makes Chance exhale just a fraction of the tension in his chest. At least this means that Will hadn’t ran and told them just how much he hates him.
His teammates are there too. They always are.
Chance swears they got louder over the weekend, constantly leaning against lockers and joking too close to someone’s ear. Chance’s stomach tightens automatically whenever they get too close.
By lunchtime, Chance is usually sitting at the end of his normal table, staring down at his food. Sometimes, when he has the courage, he’ll watch Will and his friends. He envies how easily they all seem to laugh when they’re around each other. He feels that same way about his teammates. It’s not possible that all of them are hiding in the same way he is. At least a few of them have to be having fun.
Chance wants to go over, wants to be a part of that easy warmth, but the shame, the argument, and the fear of staring eyes pins him in place. He picks at his food, pretending that the world outside of his little bubble isn’t spinning faster than he would like it to.
After three excruciating days, Chance’s practice finally ends on time.
The art room door is cracked open, the warm light pouring out.
He stands in the doorway for a moment, watching Will work. He’s hunched over a table scattered with paper and pencils. The jacket he’s wearing is too big. That’s because it’s Chance’s. The sleeves are smudged faintly with graphite.
Chance swallows and knocks softly on the door.
“Hey,” he says, voice quieter than he intends.
Will startles slightly, then looks up. For a second, Chance thinks he might freak out and tell him to leave. Maybe he’ll even ignore him because Chance still sat at the same lunch table with the same people. Instead, Will smiles softly.
“Hey,” He says back.
The space between them suddenly feels enormous, even though Chance is only a few feet away. He doesn’t touch anything, just stands there with his hands shoved in his pockets. There’s an overwhelming feeling that he’s out of place.
“I, um,” Chance starts, then stops. He exhales and tries again. “I haven’t really… seen you.”
“I know,” Will says gently. He sets his pencil down, hands braced on the table. "School's been… a lot.”
Chance nods, eyes dropping to the scattered sketches. He recognizes himself in one of them and looks away. “Yeah. It has.”
There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable exactly, but careful. Like they’re both afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Then slowly, Will reaches his hand out.
Chance laces his fingers with Will’s and lets himself be pulled into a hug.
He immediately melts, his arms wrapping around Will’s waist, tucking his face into his neck. He didn’t realize how much he needed this closeness or how shaky his hands were when they weren’t on Will.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers into Will’s neck.
Will doesn’t say anything, just places a long kiss on Chance’s neck.
Chance freezes for half a heartbeat, like he has to remind himself that it’s okay. He exhales slowly, arms tightening around Will in response.
The world stays quiet. Safe.
The simple kiss, that wouldn’t have meant this much a week ago, settles into him like reassurance. It’s not about what comes next, but about now. About the fact that Will is still here, still choosing closeness, and still trusting him. Even if Chance doesn’t think he fully deserves it.
“You can’t kiss all of our problems away.” Chance says quietly, the words sound like a joke, but his voice gives him away.
Will hums, like he’s considering it seriously. He pulls back just enough to look up at Chance, eyes warm, mouth tilted in that almost-smile that always makes Chance’s chest feel too full.
“I can try,” he says.
Chance lets out a breath that’s half a laugh. Half relief. He shakes his head, forehead tipping gently toward Will’s. “You’re ridiculous.”
When they finally untangle themselves from each other, WIll goes back to his sketches and Chance sits on a table. He’s trying not to stare too hard at Will. Attempting not to read too much into the fact that the last few days without him genuinely felt like torture now that he was back in the art room.
He was trying to remember what song was playing when he saw the sketch again. The one of him.
It’s half-tucked between a stack of loose pages near the corner of the table. The paper is creased slightly, like it’s been handled more than the others.
The sketch looks like him, but from a perspective Chance has never seen before. It’s not exactly what he sees in the mirror. The posture specifically tugs at something in his chest. His shoulders are curved inward a little, like he’s bracing for impact. The way his hands are drawn, one clenched in a fist and the other holding a fork. He’s staring down at his cafeteria food.
“You-” His voice comes out quieter than he expects. He nods toward the paper with his chin. “Is that… me?”
Will freezes.
For a second, Chance wishes he could take it back and never mention the sketch, but it’s too late now.
Will follows his gaze, then swallows. He rolls his shoulders back and looks over to Chance. “Yeah,” he says softly.
“You drew that,” Chance says.
Will nods. “I didn’t mean for you to actually see it. I was gonna-” He stops and shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” Chance says immediately, too fast to overthink it. He steps closer to the table and picks up the paper. “You did this yesterday?”
“At lunch.”
The words almost make Chance laugh. While he was so busy moping in the corner, taking sneaking glances at Will, the other boy was doing the same. At least, Will had something to show for it.
Chance stares at the sketch again, noticing more details now. There’s soft shadows around the eyes and Will kept the tension in his jaw. He looks like he wants to disappear.
“Do I seriously look like this?” Chance asks, his brows furrowing.
Will’s eyes widened. “Is it bad?”
“No,” Chance says quickly. “ Oh my god, no. I just… didn’t realize I looked so intense.”
Will’s shoulders fall back down at that and he exhales. “Sometimes you do. Sometimes you don’t.”
Chance sets the paper back down and looks up at Will. “When?”
The other boy shrugs and takes a step closer. “At home. I have sketches of that too.”
Chance’s mouth quirks up into a smile. He hadn’t realized Will was sketching him this often. He’d known about little ones he did when they first started hanging out, but he doesn’t know how he missed full-blown sketches.
Will hesitates, like he’s debating something with himself.
Then he reaches for his sketchbook on the table. He flips through the pages until he lands on, what Chance is assuming is, the right one. He holds it out between them for a second before setting it down on the table.
“I drew this one a while ago.” Will says.
Chance recognizes it immediately of course. It’s him again.
This time, he’s sitting. He’s slouched comfortably, one arm draped over the back of the couch. He’s completely unguarded. His mouth is tilted into something that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t far from one either. His shoulders aren’t hunched and his hands aren’t tense. It’s a complete difference to the sketch before.
“I remember that.” Chance says quietly, recognition blooming in his chest. He can feel his face start to get warmer. “I thought you were drawing something from the movie.”
Will nods. “It started like that.”
Chance studies the sketch again, noticing how different it feels from the first one. This version of him isn’t bracing for impact. He isn’t performing.
Chance swallows, his throat tight, eyes flicking between the two drawings.
Something warm spreads through Chance’s chest. The realization that Will didn’t just see him at his worst, or his most conflicted, but also at his most unguarded. Both versions mattered enough to him to keep them.
Will slides the sketch closer to him. “You can keep it,” he says. “If you want.”
Chance’s fingers curl around the edge of the paper. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I want to.”
He glances up at Will, meeting his eyes. “Thanks,” he adds. He doesn’t know if it’s for the drawing or for the fact that Will saw him.
The rest of the time spent in the art room was in a comfortable silence. Chance sat on the edge of the table, his thumb rubbing over the graphite lines on the sketch. Will finished whatever he was working on and piled his papers back together.
The walk home was nice too. When they reached an area where they were sure nobody else could see, Will laced his fingers with Chance’s.
Chance wanted to talk so bad. There was so much on his mind, but he couldn’t open his mouth without it all becoming word vomit.
He has spent so long bracing for people to leave that the staying feels almost louder than any argument he’s ever had.
He’s good at surviving. He always has been.
That’s the thing that no one really sees. Not the teachers, not the guys on the team, not even the friends he laughs with in locker rooms or crowded hallways. No one. Survival is a skill. You learn when to smile, when to agree, when to look the other way. You learn which jokes to repeat and which ones to swallow. You learn how to build yourself into something unthreatening to the people who could hurt you.
When Chance started to realize that he was different, he aimed for survival. It was safer that way.
And it works. Mostly.
But walking with Will now, holding hands with someone who knows the worst parts of him and hasn’t stepped back, Chance starts to feel how heavy his armor truly is. Chance isn’t the only survivor. He knows that Will has been through, what Chance can only imagine, is worse. He’s seen him wake up in the middle of the night, grabbing and screaming until he realizes he’s just in Chance’s bedroom.
Will’s process of survival is different. He fights because he has to.
When Chance was younger, he used to think of himself as a chameleon. The easiest way to make friends was pretending to be exactly who they wanted.
He starts to think about the jocks. About the way they joke, the names they say, the way they shove each other around. About how the way cruelty slips out disguised as humor. He thinks about all the times he’s laughed, while feeling his stomach churn. All the times he told himself it wasn’t that bad, that it didn’t count if he wasn’t the one saying it.
One time, he told his dad about this feeling. About this sense of needing to pretend to fit in. How he didn’t like some of the things the boys said at school.
“Boys will be boys.” He said.
But he thinks about Will’s friends. About Dustin’s jokes that carry weight, jokes Chance doesn’t have to force himself to laugh too. He thinks about how wary Mike is of letting him around, but he let him in anyway. After everything he had done, he was still welcomed into Mike’s basement for a game.
Then, he thinks about Lucas. Who, somehow, is able to do both. He plays basketball, he goes to parties, and then he gets to disappear whenever he wants to. He’s solid and steady. He never looked at Chance like he was waiting for him to mess up.
Once Chance watches Will disappear into the Wheeler’s house, he painfully understands why Will wanted this so badly. Why he wanted them to see each other clearly.
Chance has always believed that keeping his head down was the same as being harmless.
But being harmless does not mean that he’s good.
The thought sits in his chest as he walks home, heavy and unwelcome. Standing up means ruining things. It means isolation. It means proving, in front of everyone, that the version of himself they’re comfortable with isn’t the whole truth. It means risking becoming the target instead of hiding behind a shield.
He’s terrified of that.
Terrified of the looks.
Terrified of walking into the gym and realizing that he doesn’t belong there anymore.
But he’s more terrified of staying like this.
Of waking up years from now and realizing he never chose anything, that he just let the current carry him to whatever is safest. Of knowing, deep down, that he understood what was wrong and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to stop it.
He doesn’t want to be that guy anymore.
He doesn’t want to be someone who only does the right thing when it’s easy or someone who hides behind proximity to power and calls it neutrality.
This isn’t about being brave for Will, though God, he wants to be someone Will can be proud of. This is about being able to look at himself without flinching. About choosing a version of himself that doesn’t require constant compromise.
—
It happens too fast and too slowly all at once.
Chance’s head has been cloudy since he got up this morning. He could barely sleep, going through every possible scenario where he slowly steps away from his friend group. He landed on making different friends and just hanging out with them more often than the other players. That seemed to be the safest option.
He thought about the girl in math, she was smart and always seemed to help him with the harder problems. Then there was the guy in his English class. He was always complaining about what movies were actually good. Chance felt like they could possibly have something in common.
The hallway is loud in the way it always is between classes. There’s lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, and a teacher in the hallway yelling at everyone to hurry up so they’re not late. It’s science fair week so the hallways are worse than usual. Kids walk around with their bulky dioramas and poster boards.
Chance is half-listening to Andy and the others, drifting in that familiar in-between space where he doesn’t have to think too hard about who he’s standing next to. The other half is thinking about how he’s going to talk to that girl about something other than math. When trying to remember if her name is Maggie or Peggy, he hears it.
“Move, freak.”
Chance turns just in time to see Andy shoulder past a smaller group near the lockers. Dustin stumbles, papers spilling from his hands, his science diorama hitting the floor. Andy steps on something plastic that rolled off of it.
Laughter ripples. It’s automatic.
And heartless.
Something tightens in Chance’s chest.
“Hey,” Chance says, easy at first, like he’s soothing down a wild animal. “Relax, man.”
He doesn’t even know why he said it or that he was saying it. Through the brain fog, his mouth opened on its own.
Andy snaps his head around like he’s been waiting for it.
“What?” he snaps. “You his babysitter now?”
Chance shrugs, forcing a half-smile he doesn’t feel. “I’m just saying it’s not that serious.”
Andy steps closer. Too close. The hallway noise seems to dip, like everyone is holding their breath.
“Are you forgetting that his freak of a friend killed Chrissy?” Andy asks, even though it's not really a question.
Chance glances down just for a second, and sees Dustin on the ground, scooping up whatever remains of his project he can. The plastic pieces are still rolling around on the floor.
“And since when do you give a shit?” Andy’s voice pulls Chance’s eyes back up.
“Just leave him alone,” Chance says.
The smile drops from Andy’s face.
The shove comes hard and sudden. Both of Andy's hands are on Chance’s chest, sending him stumbling back into a locker. The metal rattles loudly, pain blooming sharp between his shoulders.
“What’s your problem?” Andy demands. “You trying to embarrass me?”
Chance doesn’t answer. He pushes off the locker and shoves him back.
That’s all it takes.
Andy’s fist connects with Chance’s jaw before he can fully brace. The impact snaps his head sideways, teeth clacking together as pain explodes bright and immediate. There’s laughing and yelling. The whole hallway erupts.
Chance swings back on instinct, knuckles grazing Andy’s cheek instead of landing solid. Andy grunts and tackles him forward, both of them crashing into the lockers again. Chance clenches his jaw as another pain shoots through his shoulders.
At some point, Chance lands a punch somewhere near Andy’s ribs. He feels the other crumple in on himself a little. He tries to push Andy off, but it doesn’t work.
He drives Chance backward again, forearm pressing into his throat.
Chance gasps, vision blurring at the edges.
“Thought you were better than this,” Andy snarls, driving a knee into Chance’s thigh. Pain crawls up his leg, nearly buckling it.
Chance swings wildly, desperation overtaking technique. His fist connects with Andy’s shoulder and then his chest. Andy responds with another punch, this one catching Chance just below the eye. White flashes spark across his vision.
Andy shoves him again, and Chance slams down onto the floor. The breath whooshes out of him in a sharp and humiliating burst.
When Chance expects Andy to get on top, there’s nothing.
He opens his eyes, which he didn't know were closed, and looks around. He can’t see who, but a few guys pull Andy away from Chance.
He sits up and rubs a hand down his face. The motion stings and he looks down at his hand. It’s covered in blood.
Chance blinks slowly, looking around at who watched the spectacle. He recognizes some of the people there. Most of them are probably enjoying seeing him in this position.
He tastes blood. His head is ringing and the world seems to narrow to whatever body parts are throbbing.
The sound of a teacher walking down the hallway makes everyone scatter.
As he gets to his feet, he realizes this is everything he’s afraid of.
He feels like laughing.
While the teacher is still shouting, he pushes himself off the lockers. Every step sends a sharp protest through his body. The hallway swims, sounds warping and stretching like he’s underwater.
He turns the corner and ducks into the nearest bathroom.
The door swings shut with a too loud thud that makes his ears ring.
For a second, he just stands there, hands braced against the sink, head hanging. His reflection, a bloodied mess, stares back at him. One eye has red creeping into the white part, his top lip is split, and there's blood rolling down his face from his eyebrow. He barely recognizes himself.
He looks so disheveled. Even when he’s looked at himself in the mirror at his lowest, it has never been this bad.
Chance forces himself to move toward the stalls. He checks the first one. Empty. Second one. Empty. The third, he stumbles inside.
Only when he’s certain he’s alone does his chest cave in.
He shuts the stall door and slides down the wall, back pressed against the cold tiles. His breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts. Every inhale feels like it’s scraping against his throat.
He presses his palm to his face, wincing as his fingers brush the swelling. The pain feels nice in a way.
He feels like crying.
Not sobbing or breaking down entirely. More so, exhaustion. That awful, pressure that sits behind your eyes, like something is trying to claw its way out of your chest.
The adrenaline drains fast, leaving him hollow and shaky. His hands curl and uncurl into fists on top of his knees. He replays the scene in random flashes. Andy’s face twisting in confusion. Dustin scrambling on the floor. Everyone staring at him.
He did the right thing.
He thinks.
So why does he feel like this?
Chance tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, breathing through his mouth. Whatever version of himself was here before was gone. He can’t even pretend like it was a fluke, Andy might accept that, but Chance couldn’t.
A tear slips free despite his best effort, feeling like lava as it drips down his cheek. He scrubs at it angrily, hissing when he gets too close to the cut on his eyebrow.
He stays there longer than he means to, listening to the faint drip of a leaky faucet.
The bathroom door creaks open.
And then it locks.
Chance stiffens immediately, breath hitching, every muscle screaming to brace for impact again. He wipes at his face with the heel of his hand, getting rid of any evidence of weakness.
“Chance?”
Will’s voice.
Chance feels like he could sob. But he doesn’t. He closes his eyes for a second.
“Yeah.” Chance manages, voice rougher than he intended. “I’m here.”
He watches as Will’s sneakers shuffle against the tile toward the last stall and opens it just a crack.
Will stands there, eyes wide as they take Chance in. Whatever Will was originally going to say seems to evaporate on contact.
“Jesus,” Will breathes.
“I’m fine.” Chance says automatically, even as his mouth protests to move so he could form words. “You should see the other-”
Will crouches in front of him so fast it cuts the joke off mid-sentence.
“Don’t.” Will says quietly.
He settles on the floor next to Chance, close enough that Chance could feel his warmth through both of their sweaters. He doesn’t reach out right away. He just sits there.
“You didn’t need to do something like that for us.”
Chance swallows. His chest tightens, something painful and tender twisting together. “I-” he exhales. “Don’t flatter yourself, Byers. It wasn’t just for you,”
The corner of Will’s mouth, twitches.
Chance meets his gaze, eyes burning. “I was tired.” Is all he could manage to say.
Will reaches over and laces his fingers with Chance’s, preventing him from continuing to dig his nails into his knee.
“Now I’m not condoning violence, but…” Will shrugs. “What goes around comes around?”
“Did you see it?”
Chance doesn’t know why he asked. Will was here. Obviously he’d seen the fight. He must've been somewhere near Dustin. That’s kind of a shock because Chance always seems to know where Will is.
“Yeah I saw it.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
Will laugh softly.
After a moment, Chance’s breath shudders out of him.
The tears he’s been fighting finally spill, silent and frustrating, blurring his vision. He ducks his head, embarrassed, but Will doesn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry.” Chance murmurs.
“For what?” Will asks softly.
Chance shakes his head, unable to find the words. He’s sorry for so much. For bleeding. For shaking. For crying. For being afraid. For not just getting this over with sooner.
Will seems to understand anyway.
He rests his head gently on Chance’s shoulder.
They sit there like that, until Chance feels like there’s no more tears left to let silently slip out.
“We gotta get you cleaned up.” Will whispers after Chance has been done crying for a few minutes.
“Hold on. Don’t move too much.” Will had made Chance sit on the edge of the counter in the bathroom. He had just come back from God knows where with a first-aid kit. His position on the counter didn’t help entirely with their height difference. Chance was still taller.
He watches Will rummage through the kit. His movements are quick but focused, like he’s done this before.
“Okay,” Will murmurs, standing in front of him. “Tell me if anything hurts too much.”
Chance lets out a weak huff. “Pretty sure all of it does.”
Will’s mouth quirks up and Chance can tell he’s trying to hide it. However, when his eyes flick back up to Chance’s face, the smile is gone.
Will wets a paper towel and wrings it out before carefully bringing it toward Chance’s face. “I’m gonna clean the eyebrows first,” he says. “Just a little.”
Chance braces himself as Will leans in. The touch is gentle, even lighter than Chance expects. It still stings though, the damp paper presses against his broken skin. Chance sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Shit- Sorry,” Will whispers.
“It’s okay,” Chance says, voice tight. “You’re- You’re fine.”
Chance focuses on watching Will. Even in pain, he’s still infatuated with how cute Will could be sometimes. His brows are knitted together in concentration. Sometimes he bites down onto his lip. His fingers are steady too. Chance assumes this must be from his time spent drawing.
Chance moves his hand to his hips.
“I’m trying to focus.” Will mumbles, dabbing the area dry, before pressing a small piece of gauze there.
“My apologies, Dr. Byers.” Chance smirks, causing his lip to sting, but he doesn’t care.
Will ignores him and hesitates again when he moves down to Chance’s lip. He carefully cleans the split, the pain is sharp but brief. Will’s face is so close now that Chance can see the faint freckles across his nose.
“You’re bleeding less now,” Will says. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.” Chance nods. “It’s all going somewhere else.”
Will looks up at him in disgust, but also amusement. “You’re a perv.”
“How am I the perv? I didn’t say where.”
Will steps back and crosses his arms. “For your eye, it looks really bad, but it’s just broken blood vessels. It’ll heal in like a week.”
“Do I come back to your office for my follow-up appointment? Will I be seeing you?”
“No,” Will rolls his eyes. “You’ll be meeting with one of my nurses.”
“Are they as cute as you are?”
“I hate you.” Will says, with absolutely no heat behind his words.
—
Chance was suspended for the rest of the week.
He didn’t mind entirely. It'd have given him more time to spend with Will because it’s technically not a school night if Chance didn’t have to go to school the next day. At least, that’s how he was able to convince his mom.
She didn’t believe Chance’s story at first. Fortunately though, Will was able to convince her of what really happened.
Will is currently curled up next to Chance on the couch. Chance can tell he’s not actually paying attention to the movie because he’s asking the same questions every few minutes. They liked sitting in their comfortable quiet. Chance traces small shapes on the skin of Will’s hips with his finger. At some point, their eyes just drifted to each other and stayed there.
“I… I don’t want to rush you,” Will says softly out of nowhere. “But we should probably.. Talk. About us. About…this.”
Chance freezes, heart tightening, because he’d wanted this conversation and feared it in equal measure. He swallows “Yeah. Yeah, we should.”
Will’s eyes don’t leave him as he sits up. When Will sat up, Chance didn’t remove his hand from him, he just let it slide down his thigh
“So… I know we’ve been… complicated,” Will starts carefully, “and we haven’t exactly said anything. But I care about you, Chance. And I think… I think I’m… more than friends. With you.”
“Yeah? What gave you that idea? Is it when we make out or-”
“Stop. I have a whole thing planned.” Will cuts him off.
Chance nods silently, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks already.
“I want more than what… what we have right now. We don’t have to be public. I don’t expect that. That’s… That’s completely different, I just… yeah.” Will shakes his head like he’s about to backtrack everything he just said.
Chance feels something raw and nervous bloom in his chest. More than friends. The words sound huge when he hears them aloud, but Will’s voice makes them sound not that scary.
“Yeah,” Chance admits quietly. “Me too. I want more too.”
Will shifts slightly closer, smiling. “Yeah?”
Chance nods. “Yeah. Absolutely yeah.”
Will smiles a toothy grin and kisses the corner of Chance’s mouth that isn’t busted open.
For a moment, they just sit in each other’s arms, pretending to watch the movie.
And yet, Chance’s mind drifts to the hallways of Hawkins. To Andy and the others. To the jocks who haven’t abandoned him entirely. Patrick and Lucas have both stopped by. They told him about how the guys are split on who to follow, whether it be Chance or Andy. Chance doesn’t want that. He doesn’t need people to follow him around. He just wants people to see him.
“I’ve been thinking,” Chance murmurs into Will’s hair after a while. “About… everything. About them. About me.” he pauses, “I realized I’m not pretending anymore. I’m… still figuring it out but… I feel like… me. You know?”
Will just looks up and presses a soft kiss to the underside of Chance’s jaw.
“You know…” Will murmurs. “Tomorrow night, we’re finishing that campaign. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to bu-”
“I’ll be there.” Chance says, squeezing Will a little tighter.
Notes:
pt 3 soon…