Chapter Text
Like everyday, Will sneaked around corners.
The bell above rang like a starting pistol that he never asked to hear, a perpetual gunshot forcing him into a full-motion sprint out of his seat. He slipped out of art class - the one place where he could actually breathe and be himself… still, he was bound tight like a coil.
Mandatory viewing for the big basketball game against some rival school Will didn’t bother learning the details for was what all this buzz was about; the principal announced it over the intercom like a cruel national holiday.
Everyone had to be in the gym, no exceptions.
He passed the threshold with an exhale, keeping his back pressed against lockers, ducking and weaving between hormonal teenagers. Electrically charged conversations bounced off the quaint walls with echoes that reverberated through the halls like a swarm of killer bees.
“Did you see that crossover dribble Jason did-”
“Man, that was awesome-”
“Do you think Patrick-”
Will couldn’t have cared less.
Head kept low, Will quickly ran to his locker and input the code, grabbing his backpack without much fanfare. The team’s impending victory felt like a constant strain on his mind - Will didn’t want to think what would happen if they were to lose… they weren’t exactly the best losers.
He only had to get to the gym without arousing attention, but that was better said than done… especially specific attention. He rounded the corner of the English wing and froze.
There they were.
Loud, obnoxious and needlessly rambunctious, the gaggle of letterman jacketed figures lounged just outside the gym entrance greeting all those who passed with bright smiles and accompanying back pats.
Andy leaned against a wall with his arms crossed, lost in conversation at something his teammate said. Patrick laughed a little too loudly, tall frame filling up the space, as Jason was the most vocal, complimenting and thanking everyone who entered. But it was Chance who Will noticed - he was standing a little apart, rolling a basketball idly between his hands, hair still damp from whatever pre-game ritual they were forced to partake in.
The whole pack radiated a territorial energy that Will learned was best to avoid from a mile away; nothing good ever came when they were all together.
No way was he walking straight past them - not today, especially not when the whole school kissed the ground they walked on while Will was the kid people would rather insult than get to know.
One foot behind the other, he backtracked silently slipping into a side hall toward the end of the wing, taking the long way round. He slipped past the empty band room and through the back stairwell that spiralled dangerously rickety at its peak. Lights buzzed more fluorescent than usual and every step felt like borrowing time, but it was better than risking a shove, or jeer, or something worse.
He didn’t slow when he reached the second floor, stomping past the language and history wings until he reached another set of isolated stairs - cold and solid. With little exhales, he pressed further, back down to the first floor and in front of the looming metal doors.
By the time he pushed through the double doors into the gymnasium, the bleachers were already full, blaring with overhead lights that glared down at the polished court. Rubber and sweat lingered in the air like a cruel musk.
The Tigers were proudly presented in the middle of the court in a neat row, perfectly uniform as cheerleaders surrounded them like the perfect accessory. Jason stood tall, cheers erupting when he took the microphone.
Will scanned the stands as quickly as he could, eyes on the familiar group. Max explained the game rules to the others who had no clue, Mike poked holes in the rules while Dustin tried to understand. Jane sat quietly beside them, watching the court with calm, intense focus.
However, Lucas was down on the court with the team; hair perfect and jersey crisp, but even from the stands Will noticed the distance. The other guys joked and clustered together, snickering and slapping backs while Lucas stood a little apart staring at his sneakers.
Ostracised - still one of them on paper, but not really.
Not a second later, Will climbed the bleachers, apologising to the knees he brushed and ignoring the glares they threw his way. He dropped his bag and took the empty seat beside Mike.
“You’re late,” Mike huffed immediately, but more of relief than annoyance, scooting a little to provide more room.
“Took the scenic route,” Will muttered a little out of breath - he’d gone around the whole school, up and down stairs in abandoned corridors just so he could avoid them like the plague. It wasted time and his own breath, but deep down he knew it was worth it.
“Avoiding the welcome committee?” Dustin leaned over Max, Jane and Mike.
Will could only shrug in reply, catching Max’s eye with a nod of understanding like no words needed to be asked - she was casual, attempting to lighten the mood as she pushed Dustin away, rolling her eyes in mocking discontent.
A loud voice spoke through the crowd - a microphone crackled.
Mid-way through a speech, Will only now noticed the way people were buzzing in their seats with anticipation like a music artist ready to reveal their tracklist. Will turned forward with a quiet exhale.
“-And tonight is not just about a game - it’s about love, love for our school, for our town, for Hawkins and the people we’ve lost along the way. Billy, Heather, they fought hard, their names should be remembered. So let’s show that by fighting.” Jason paced slightly as he approached the audience, smiling bright and enunciating loud like this were his birthright.
“Why is he acting like they are dead?” Max scoffed with obvious discontent, “they just went to college.”
“Let’s have respect for the game, respect for our teammates, respect for every single one of you out there cheering us on. We win as one. We love as one. We respect as one. So let's go out there and show the Falcons what Hawkins is made of!”
Cheers and whistles erupted in the gym. Jason pumped a fist, turning to slap hands with his teammates. Chance grinned wide, Andy whooped till his voice cracked and Patrick buzzed with unending energy. Even Lucas appeared quenched from that speech.
Up in the bleachers, Will let the sound hit him like a crashing wave upon the shore, his own ears ringing with a million thoughts faster than he could verbalise. His jaw clenched just a fraction, looking down at the court and resisting the bitter laugh that threatened to bile up his throat.
Love and respect?
Those words weren’t in their vocabulary - Will was surprised they knew what it meant.
He thought about last week alone - they clipped his shoulder hard enough to bruise and called him unrepeatable words under their breath as casually as ever. They knocked one of Dustin’s electronics out of his hands ‘accidentally’ and cornered Lucas, calling him a traitor for hanging out with the ‘freaks’. They never touched Lucas, but their glares and sharp eyes did more than punches ever could.
And Jason? Jason was the instigator, Will was so sure about it - the golden rich boy with a neat head of hair, with a perfect girlfriend and perfect grades, preaching humility and love while actively prowling his pack for a victim who didn’t fit their predetermined mould. Will and his friends had been targets for years - Mike for being mouthy, Dustin for his condition, Lucas for his race, Max for her interests and Jane for just being herself.
Despite it all, Will found himself being the easiest mark - poor, queer, small, unable to fight back or argue. The one they could push around without fear of pushback.
Once the cheering subsided, the first whistle was blown, prompting the team to their positions. Forever a benchwarmer, Lucas was relegated to the cold wooden bench despite his years of experience and clear proficiency in basketball - no other junior was a benchwarmer.
Tigers versus Falcons.
The match began ceremoniously with exploding excitement. Blurred motions of colliding bodies and a wispy orange ball bouncing around with reckless abandon. The boys chased up and down the court, passing and dribbling without a second thought like a synchronised performance.
Cheerleaders on the sidelines from both teams supported them, calling words of encouragement and shaking their pompoms to direct the teams in such a way that it spoke for the crowd to do the same.
Will tried to focus on the play, not because he wanted to, but mostly because he was bored - he contemplated sketching, but that would be yet another ‘freak’ point for him. His friends shouted over the noise to hear each other better, passing the time with nothing more than the strength of their own words; mostly they complained of Lucas’s unfair treatment.
But then it shifted.
Hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention; the way his stomach would drop when descending a rollercoaster, instinctively he knew someone was staring at him. His eyes flickered across the excited bleachers, seeing no one who would be interested enough to be watching him.
Across the court, he met the piercing eyes. Mid-stride, dribbling furiously, was Chance Lawson looking straight up at him into the bleachers - straight into his soul.
It wasn’t a glance, clearly intentional. The corner of Chance’s lips pulled up just enough to conjure a smirk - before he snapped his gaze back to the ball, driving hard through opponents and into the hoop for an easy layup.
The Tigers scored and the gym roared. Chance didn’t flinch, merely jogging back on the defence, high-fiving Andy like nothing happened - but he looked back at Will for a second time with a look that told him to pay attention, or else.
Gulping the lump in his throat, Will’s stomach flipped, sinking lower on the bleachers with hunched shoulders - he was so going to get beat up after this; there was no other explanation.
Chance had never zeroed in on him like this before and it made Will’s skin sizzle to an itching consistency threatening to give a rash. Why was Chance looking at him like that? It made no sense, it made even less sense when he turned with a hotter smile.
Will would have been blind not to notice Chance before this - he was breathtaking, tall with broad shoulders and moved like he owned every inch of the court. Lucas had also offhandedly mentioned he was extremely rich.
Now that he thought on it, Chance had never been the one to shove him into lockers, or call him slurs or get physical. Rather, he was always just… there. Leaning against the wall with an unreadable expression - he always calmed his teammates down when fists were ready to be thrown, a pacifist on the surface who always appeared acutely aware of how Will was feeling.
He was in Will’s art class, although he barely turned up when there was a coming game.
Sometimes he’d put a hand on Will’s shoulder as if to ground him, occasionally asking if he was alright when no one was watching; those moments gave him terminal whiplash. Yet, besides a quiet ‘ease up, he’s not worth it’ to his friends, Chance never acted on his own accord.
Complicit saviour.
Yet that look right now, the teasing, playful yet mocking glance made it all the worse. It was almost like he was actually aware of Will’s presence and just how much space he took up in his peripheral vision.
Will’s fingers dug into the hem of his shirt while his eyes forced back onto the game - a teammate was hurt, but even then he noticed how Chance appeared unbothered, merely glancing at Will for his reaction - it was a secret stare-off.
Mike bumped his shoulder, casting him out of his thoughts, “You good?”
Hesitant for a moment, Will looked between Mike’s eyes and lips, blushing slightly as he nodded in a breathless whisper, “Yeah. I'm- I’m good.”
Safe among friends, Will took a deep breath, rubbing slick sweat from his palms onto the roughness of denim. He didn’t realise his zoning out had become that noticeable. In front of him, he didn’t realise when Lucas had finally been let on the court, dominating the score and weaving past opponents.
Down on the court, Will’s eyes travelled back to Chance who paused mid-stride, head turned sharp to the bleachers, not bothering to hide the shift in his expression - pissed and possessive like someone had touched something that wasn’t theirs.
It felt like needles piercing through the crowd and deep-set on him. His pulse picked up and the ugly interpretation of what it meant punctured him; Chance was thinking that Will was queer, so obviously queer that he needed to be taught a lesson. Will could imagine it - a beating in the parking lot, or maybe something darker off school grounds.
The team had once followed Dustin to the graveyard, who was to say they wouldn't do the same for him?
Inward, he shrunk into nothing, curling his arms tight and letting the game blur.
When the final buzzer rang, Will didn’t even realise until the gym erupted with cheerful glee one last time as the Hawkins Tigers took home the win by twelve entire points. The team mobbed off the court with marinated jerseys, soaking up every bit of affection the general public swabbed them with.
Lucas was the first to peel off from his group after the quick group huddle picture, the swarm thinning until he broke away early, heading toward the corner of the gym where his friends were already climbing down.
The party met him away from the main gaggle near the side exit. Lucas looked exhausted but relieved, genuinely smiling that he actually got to play today - sometimes he felt like an invisible target was stuck on his back for no reason at all.
“You played good,” Dustin clapped him on the back, mumbling something about the trajectory of the passes and how Lucas incorporated maths into every throw.
Managing a tired smile, Lucas nodded, “Felt like I’m playing against my own team half the time. Jason’s pissed I haven’t got my head in the game.”
“I hate that man,” Max shook her head with barely contained anger.
“Yeah, you carried the game,” Jane smiled softly, clinging onto her boyfriend’s arm.
“Nice throw, by the way,” Will whispered gentle, hanging back a step.
Their voices shifted with the overlapping chatter from the rest of the gymnasium... but before they could continue, confident footsteps approached.
“Sinclair!” a voice boomed with over-the-top energy.
Still in his jersey, Chance sauntered over with sweat glistening on his forehead that made him appear effortlessly perfect. His grin was wide and welcoming, bright with equal charm and trouble. He carried himself like he owned the court - he always was a little too showy.
In his head, Will assumed he thought of himself as the perfect specimen; that thought alone made him queasy.
“My man! You were straight fire tonight. Told ya that pick-and-roll we practised would pay off. You’re the real MVP, just don’t tell Carver I said that,” Chance winked, clapping Lucas on the back hard enough to make him stagger forward a step before pulling him into a half-hug.
“Thanks man, appreciate it,” Lucas laughed, surprised but warming to it.
Chance’s eyes flickered over the group, scanning the unique faces of Lucas’s little group - mouthy Mike, nerdy Dustin, tomboy Max, crybaby Jane and finally queer Will. His eyes lingered on Will for a second too long. The grin didn’t falter but something shifted inside: playful, teasing and most of all greedy.
“Whole crew’s out supporting, huh? Nice to see it,” Chance ambiguously glanced over them; his team were the ones who ruthlessly bullied him, clearly they weren’t happy to see him.
Yet Chance didn’t care, acting like nothing was wrong when turning to leave with a casual smile - he stepped closer to Will, raising his hand that made Will tense. It landed on his shoulder but it wasn’t a threat. Fingers sank slightly into the soft plaid, thumb resting for a second longer than it should have - claiming space.
Breath catching, Will felt the touch burn through cloth. He couldn’t deny the way the warmth grazed his ear.
“Good to see you up there, Byers,” his grin turned sly, eyes glowing, “You clean up nice when you’re not dodging us in the hallways.”
One squeeze before he let go. Chance’s touch was almost affectionate if he squinted from afar, something a friend might do, but given the situation, Will feared the implications - Chance knowing he dodged them. Would they wait for him in the quiet halls only to bully him harder as ‘punishment’?
Was that why Chance was glaring at him from the court?
“Catch you losers later. Gotta go collect my winnings from the bet on this game,” he tossed a lazy salute to the group, already feet away from their quaint party; he didn’t spare a full glance, even when he did, there was only one face he focused on.
Will met his eyes, shoulder tingling from where the touch landed - dangerous like a mocking interest. All he could do was watch as Chance jogged off toward the locker room, laughing at something Andy yelled across the court - all confidence and legs.
Number twenty-two was painted on his jersey, a number so specific it brought back a deep-set memory Lucas had once offhandedly mentioned - it was the number Chance fought for. But why? What was the significance?
Curiosity fuelled.
Mike tore away from Jane for a second, shooting a sideways glance, “What a piece of shit! Did he say anything?”
Hesitant for a second, Will exhaled, “No, nothing… I’m fine.”
---- ----
The locker room door swung shut behind Chance with a heavy metallic thud, muffling the distant echoes of devoted celebration. Steam drifted from the open showers, mixing with the waft of sweat and woodsy shampoo.
Most of the team were still on the court, buzzing out in the hallway relishing the defeat they inflicted, but a handful remained inside - Jason, Andy, Patrick and a couple of benchwarmers stripping down to nothing but a towel - griping like tradition.
Chance peeled off his jersey, watching the number twenty-two come off with him, landing on the bench with a heavy slap. Underneath, his muscles flexed under fluorescent lights as he slowly removed his clothes.
Jason was already lost in his own problems, slamming the locker harder than necessary, moving onto the third teammate to complain about tonight - Chance usually didn’t care, but his ears perked when they said Lucas’s name.
“Sinclair was off tonight, head completely in the clouds. That last steal was pure fucking luck - I’ve warned him, if he was locked in we could have been ahead by twenty.”
Rolling his eyes, Chance placed a foot on the bench, untying his shoelace without much deliberation - who cared how many points they won by? It was an arbitrary number in the grand scheme of things. Losing was one thing, but they won. Regardless, Chance didn’t intervene.
Beside him, Andy sat on the bench wrapped in a towel, using another to wipe himself down, “He’s always like that, that’s why he’s on the bench.”
“He is a good player,” Patrick played devil’s advocate for a second, spraying himself with an obscene amount of perfume, “but if he can’t keep up…”
Not looking up right away, Chance folded his towel over his arm calm as ever. His face nothing but an expression of pure tranquility like the situation warranted no active input. But then, barely above a whisper, he spoke, “-Maybe it’s cause his girlfriend’s here.”
“What are you talking about now?” Andy continued drying his hair.
“Just thinking out loud,” Chance only turned his head, that ever-easy grin splayed across his lips while he shrugged, “I mean when the girl you like is here, you tend to play worse from nerves, don’t ya?”
“When my Chrissy is doing her cheerleading routine you don’t see me playing badly,” Jason crossed his arms.
“Well then, maybe he gets stage fright because his whole nerd group is watching… didn’t you see him right now?” Chance’s voice was buttery smooth as he intrigued an idea; one simple idea that Lucas was too loyal to his friends, leading to a decline in abilities.
“You think they’re the problem?” Patrick crossed his arms with a raised brow.
“He did seem pretty distracted when we were playing,” Chance lied through his teeth, but then again, who would they rather believe: a boy ostracised from the group, or an up-and-coming team leader. “In drills he’s sharp and snappy, but right now he did miss a few pretty easy openings.”
Steam from the showers curled thicker into the locker room, benchwarmers stepping into the cold room warmed only by the temperature of their own bodies - a cacophony of sweat and cheap spray. Some boys were shirtless, others wrapped in towels, and still Chance didn’t move from his open locker.
“That could be anything,” Patrick played devil’s advocate once more.
“Well he plays better when he’s not babysitting his little cult,” Andy grumbled.
“Yeah, I did hear them bitching earlier after the game… but it’s probably nothing.” Chance faked an intense sigh, theatrical in nature as he passed a dismissive glance back to his shower caddy, pretending like he didn’t mean to stir up trouble.
“What did they say?” Andy prodded.
“Oh nothing… it’s not my place to say,” Chance shook his head, pretending like he’d said too much.
Furrowing his brows, Jason repeated adamant, “What did they say?”
Feigning reluctance, Chance shrugged casually, “Nothing much… just about how we’re toxic meatheads only focused on looking cool, and how we feed on people’s misery, and how we’re hypocrites who are the reason the school is miserable.” Chance lied efficiently enough not to be caught.
Jason boiled red, a blush of pure anger, “They said that?”
“Word for word,” Chance’s voice dropped a notch, “they’re telling Lucas he should quit. It’s one sided beef, man. Every time Lucas hangs with us they fill his head with that crap… no wonder he’s been so off his game.”
“The freaks!” Andy stood to attention.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Chance nodded slowly like he hated to admit it, “we’re just playing ball and they’re the ones with a grudge… they started this. Remember when they threw paint thinner at you Andy? Or when Max punched you Jason?” His smile hid behind his calm expression as he snipped the right wires to instigate a troubling reaction.
They exchanged looks, ones bubbling with something akin to anger. Patrick closed the lid on his deodorant a little too aggressively, Jason cracked his knuckles and Andy only stared, too embarrassed with the situation.
Then he backtracked to appear innocent, “I’m just repeating what I heard. But if someone out there is spreading lies about our team and is trying to turn one of our own against us… that’s sabotage.”
Fire igniting within, Jason nodded with the words, clicking along, “We’ve let it slide for too long.”
Pretending like the conversation weighed heavy in his thoughts, Chance finally turned, leaning his back against the lockers casually, voice dropping reasonably smooth being the voice of reason, “It’s a bad look for the team also. I mean we’re busting our asses out there and then you have some nobodies spreading lies about us… what if this gets out? Next thing you know the whole school’s looking at us like we’re monsters.”
“We need to do something about this.”
Innocently surrendering, Chance raised his arms, biceps flexing slightly, “I’m not saying we go nuclear… but you gotta feel for Sinclair too. He’s a cool guy and it’s like they’re polluting his mind with that garbage. It’s not fair to him or us.”
“I’ve had enough with their bullshit,” Andy stomped his feet like a petulant child, towel almost slipping unsightly, “let’s really get them where it hurts…”
Finally looking back at his teammates, Chance met their eyes innocent, appearing like a pacifist, “I’m not saying we need to go that far… but you guys know how to handle distractions better than I do.”
The perfect nudge. Subtle and undeniable wrapped in his golden-boy façade he cultivated like bacteria. Chance never needed to raise his voice nor throw a punch - he’d just plant the seed and step back to watch it grow.
Slamming the locker in all its pumped up anger, Jason’s jaw tightened, “Yeah. We do.”
Anger blushed Andy’s cheeks, “Next time those losers hang around after a game, we remind them where they belong.”
Less than eager, Patrick nodded along despite himself, on the fence of the whole situation, but then again he saw their point. In his mind his view was the only correct one.
Eyeing them, Chance said nothing more - his seed was growing perfectly.
Over the past year, it had been small integration; a quiet comment on how ‘Byers was always eyeing the team with too much interest’, ‘Henderson belittled their intelligence’, ‘Mayfield was turning Sinclair against them’, while Hopper and especially Wheeler were a ‘nuisance couple beyond repair’.
Each small comment snowballed from casual internal cruelty between them in the locker rooms to sharp physicality in their routines. Words turned to shoves, and shoves turned into punches and kicks. Taunts escalated from jokes to threats.
Never Chance though, for he was the pacifist; the one who calmed his friends down, who appeared innocent like the only reasonable one in the room. Usually those times were only reserved for Will - he’d never let Will get tainted like that… he was Will’s saviour.
And it worked every time. Will’s eyes lingered on him before flushing and looking away in quick embarrassment. Chance noticed every time and revelled in it. Each time he saw Will’s eyes soften a little more, like truly believing Chance had a kind heart.
Yet tonight boiled his blood. Seeing Will actually blush under Mike’s gaze on the bleachers twisted something sharp like a dagger lodged in Chance’s gut. Greed wasn’t just for money, it was for Will’s attention, and right now he wanted Will to look at him like that, not some stupid boy.
So in return, he spread the lies a little further today… maybe his party would get attacked more tomorrow, Chance wasn’t sure. All he knew was where Will would be to swoop in last minute and play saviour.
Half laughing, Chance grabbed his shower caddy and slung his towel over his shoulder. With a few steps he passed the group hearing their daring plans like he was agreeing without the words cementing him.
“Keep me updated,” he called over his shoulder, voice bright again, “Gotta wash off the win.”
Murmurs grew louder behind him when the shower doors swung shut. Those quiet promises turned into plans Chance couldn’t wait to hear - his smile turned hungrier, because now he would be there when it all came crashing down.
He always was.