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parkitaco · 2 years ago

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a color i have searched for

prequel ficlet #2 to swear that it was something, requested by @amaragf

Will is well-acquainted with the nuances of coming out. He’s handled it with delicacy, the few times he’s done it - first with Jonathan, then his mother. There had been significantly more crying involved on his part than he might have preferred, but he probably should have predicted that part, in all his planning and preparation for it. He’s never been able to control his emotions. Hide them, maybe, but never control.

It went well, though, both times, like he knew it would - the main reason he’d chosen the two of them to come out to first was because he knew they’d react well, and also maybe because part of him figured they already knew. They’d spared him the awkwardness of saying it up-front, but the coded speech Jonathan gave him in that godforsaken pizza dough freezer a million years ago and the framed picture of the rainbow spaceship he’d drawn when he was, like, ten that hangs proudly in his mother’s office says plenty on its own. He’d received bone-crushing hugs and words of affirmation and support and it had all been very emotional but ultimately good.

So, he’s at least a little bit experienced in this department, and has a solid idea of what to expect in a reaction.

One thing he did not account for, though, is the blank look El is giving him right now.

“You,” she says slowly, eyes narrowed the way they always are when she’s trying to figure something out, “-are gay?”

Even though he’s had the word on a back burner in his brain since he was approximately twelve years old, hearing it said aloud still sends his nerves into a bit of a scramble. Will manages a nod, hands twisting nervously in his lap. They’re sitting on the floor of his bedroom, listening to a Madonna record of El’s that Will would rather die than admit that he actually sort of likes, and Will had glanced over at her- his sister, one of his best friends, outside of Mike, except that Will’s not going down that rabbit hole right now- and had just blurted it out without thinking much about it: I need to tell you something.

But now he’s actually having to say the thing, which is infinitely scarier than the lead-up to saying the thing, and if the look El is giving him right now is any indication, she has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“What is… gay,” she asks slowly, sounding out the single syllable, and again Will’s nerves seize up.

It’s a fair question - what is gay? It’s an insult, sometimes, hurled at him by his peers and his father. It’s a secret, one that weighs on him like a physical thing, although maybe less of a secret now. It’s a curse, whispered in hushed tones between adults who are trying not to be derogatory and instead circling right back around to judgemental, which is almost worse. It’s his greatest shame and his greatest joy, his secret, his love, a fundamental part of who he is but not the only piece of the puzzle. It’s something Will is okay with, mostly, particularly when he looks at Mike Wheeler, marveling at how lucky he is to love him, even if it’s only from a distance.

But he is definitely not supposed to be thinking about that, because he’s talking to Mike’s ex, who broke up with him less than a month ago, and he can’t even begin to ask for her forgiveness for that aspect of it if she doesn’t understand the premise. “Um,” he says intelligently, and can feel his cheeks burning, “It’s, like. It means to be attracted to your same, uh, gender.”

El nods slowly, processing, brow furrowed. “Word of the day?” she offers, sending him a small smile, and he smiles back despite himself, relieved that she doesn’t seem disgusted or angry or any of the hateful things he’s been trained to expect.

“Yeah, sure, that can be the word of the day,” he says, laughing a little. “But- you understand?”

“I think so,” El muses, and meets his eyes warmly. “It is- boys that like boys? Romantically?”

Will’s stomach twists, and it’s all he can do to not picture a certain curly-haired, brown-eyed boy. “Yeah,” he says softly, and it feels like more of a confession than it is. He’s gotten past the first secret. He’s still undecided if he should bother sharing the second. “Is that okay?”

El makes a face, and the phrase how would I know echoes in Will’s brain, her voice bouncing around his skull. He laughs, and she grins. “I do not know why I would not be okay with it,” she says aloud, and Will wonders if he’s going to have to explain the concept of homophobia to her as well, “But yes, it is okay.”

Will knew she’d say this - being lab-grown and kind of a freak (said with affection, of course) probably makes her more accepting than most people, but this is 1986 and Hawkins and Will knows all too well that you can never be too sure of anything, here. He slumps against the end of his bed, relieved, and El smiles reassuringly at him as she scoots closer, leaning up next to him and knocking her knee against his. “Thanks, El,” he murmurs.

Anytime, she says back inside his head, and then aloud; “Why did you need to tell me that?”

Will swallows, nerves creeping back in. “Oh, I don’t know,” he squeaks, voice full of forced lightness, “I just- thought you should know.”

El mulls this over, biting her lip. “Do other people know?”

“Mom and Jonathan,” Will says, inexplicably embarrassed, “And- maybe the Party knows, too, but I haven’t officially told them, so-”

“I won’t tell,” El interrupts quickly, knee pressing more firmly against his own with the affirmation, and Will exhales, relaxing a little. “Promise.”

They’re silent for a moment, Madonna’s voice still playing softly from Will’s record player, and he resists the urge to tap his foot along with the beat.

Then:

“How do you know?” El asks, glancing at him with a curious look on her face, and Will bristles a little despite himself, defensive.

“What do you mean, how do I know,” he asks, and El’s face falls into a frown, confused, and he immediately regrets it. “I- sorry. Sorry.” He pauses, thinking of how best to explain it. “Um. Sometimes people say things like that because they don’t, like, believe you or something, or want to change it. Uh- you know how people sometimes say one thing when they mean something else?”

“Passive aggressive,” El recites proudly, shooting him a brilliant grin, and he huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s the one. I’m just- used to that. Sorry.”

“I did not mean to offend you,” El says, eyes wide and sincere with concern, and Will, oddly, feels a little bit like crying.

“I know, it’s okay,” he says quickly, and El’s expression smooths out, relaxing. “Um- to answer your question, I mean- I don’t know. It’s just a sort of- gut feeling, I guess,” he says, thinking back to the days of Snow Balls and that sinking sensation in his chest when girls asked him to dance, knowing he didn’t like them and being faintly sure that he never would. “That your experiences don’t line up with what people are telling you you should be feeling.”

El’s face twists in thought, and she bobs her head even though Will is fairly sure that she doesn’t really know what he’s talking about. But that’s to be expected, he supposes - it’s not like she has any of her own experience in this department to compare it to her. Her expertise is fairly limited to the supernatural. “Gut feeling,” she repeats, “I don’t think I have many of those.”

Will laughs again, already feeling lighter. That’s one thing he’s learned about coming out since the first time he did it- it feels good. Afterward, anyway. “You will,” he assures her, patting her knee with one hand, “You just have some catch-up to do, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, sounding faintly annoyed at the prospect, but she powers through anyway; “Is that all you wanted to tell me, then? That you like boys?”

“Um,” Will says, and trepidation creeps in. He has a choice to make - he could lie and say yes, and come away from the experience with a supportive sister and a generally good feeling. Or he could be honest with her, and risk having her hate him. Not that she would. Probably. But- well, it’s Hawkins and he’s Will, so you never know. “It’s kind of big, El,” he deflects instead, forcing a wry smile, “‘Is that all,’” he mimics with a scoff.

She shrugs. “You are still Will,” she points out, and the statement sparks more emotion in him than it should. “And I still love you.”

Will supposes this, ultimately, is what makes him take the leap. “Well, in that case,” he says, voice shaking a little. He curls his legs under him, shifting to look at her properly, and she glances over at him with an eyebrow raised, triumphant like she knew there had to be more to the story. “You should know that- I like one boy, specifically.” Despite his best efforts, Mike’s face appears in his mind’s eye, like a physical thing he can’t quite shake.

El meets his eyes, gently encouraging and a little bit gleeful, pleased at the prospect of gossip. Something Max has hard-wired into El’s brain, surely. “Who?” she asks, and her voice is so light and pleased and Will can’t bear the thought of having her turn on him, but he pushes through anyway.

“Uh,” he says, “Well- okay, don’t be mad.”

The gleeful expression on El’s face slips a little, and she frowns. “Why would I be mad?”

“It’s, uh,” Will tries, all coherent thought immediately leaving his brain. He’s prepared for this, has thought through what he would say to El if, hypothetically, he were to ever tell her the truth, but the reality of the situation is much harder to control. He opens his mouth, and all his words come spilling out, desperate to escape after being caged in for so long, rambling and frenzied: “I just don’t want you to think that I was, like, trying to steal anyone, and I know you broke up but it wasn't that long ago and I don’t even know why I’m saying anything because it doesn’t matter, I’m never gonna tell him so you have nothing to-”

Will, El says, both inside his head and aloud, and Will stops short, cheeks flaming with humiliation. He hasn’t even said it, technically, but he meets El’s eyes, and they’re wide with understanding. He resists the urge to run away and hide forever. “It’s Mike?” El asks, clarifying, and the confirmation has Will groaning in embarrassment and reaching up to cover his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says into his palms, pressing his fingertips into his burning cheeks, “I’m just- I tried to stop, but I can’t, even when you guys were together I just- it’s just always- God,” he huffs, giving up on forming an eloquent sentence and instead focusing on trying to will himself out of existence.

El’s fingertips brush against Will’s hands, and he peers through his fingers at her miserably. She tugs on his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face, and he lets it happen, too emotionally exhausted to fight her on it. “Will,” she says seriously, eyes wide as she clasps her hands between her own, “You do not need my permission to love him.”

Who said anything about love, Will thinks, but it’s not even worth it because of course she’d see through him, she’s his telepathic twin sister and honestly it’s a shock she hadn’t figured it out already. He supposes that not knowing gay people exist makes it a bit difficult to spot one, but still. Of course she would know that his feelings for Mike run deeper than “like”.

“If I did, though,” he forces out, stupidly choked up, close to tears, always close to tears, “If I did need your permission, would I have it?”

El smiles gently. “That is a bit nonsensical,” she says, a favorite word of hers as of late - Dustin probably taught it to her - “But yes, you would.”

“You’re sure?” Will asks meekly, wanting to hide behind his hands again, but she’s still holding onto his wrists, keeping him steady. “Because- if you were upset about it, I would understand.”

El frowns, shaking her head. “Will, you knew him first,” she points out, validating that mean, petty part of Will that had existed the summer before Starcourt, upset that Mike couldn’t find the time for him even if, logically, he understood the hierarchy of their friend group. Girlfriends first, then best friends. He’d always been destined for replacement. “Way before I did,” El adds, and again Will is struck by the startling clarity with which she’s reading the situation. He hadn’t explicitly said that his feelings for Mike had existed before she came along, but obviously they had, and clearly she knows that. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't so much of a relief to not have to explain any further.

“I guess,” he says, swallowing back the lump in his throat, “But still.”

El rolls her eyes. “You are too nice sometimes,” she tells him, which Will is perfectly aware of, thanks, and in this situation he thinks it is a little bit warranted. “It is not your fault. You are not bad because of it.”

“Still,” Will insists, scooting closer, and El fixes him with an unimpressed look as his knees knock against hers. “It’s- I mean, it’s bad enough that I’m, like, violating the boundaries of my friendship with him, but if I’m hurting you too-”

“Okay, first of all,” El cuts in, which is maybe a good thing because Will could feel another ramble coming on, his words overlapping and spilling over each other, “Mike and I are not together. I broke up with him, and it had nothing to do with you, and we are good now, so I do not care who he dates. Second of all,” she continues before Will can protest to the dating part, because the idea of him actually being able to date Mike Wheeler is frankly laughable, “You are not violating anything.”

Will isn’t entirely sure she actually knows what the word violating means, but the look she’s giving him right now tells him that it’s probably not a good idea to double check. “He’s my best friend,” he says in a low voice, fighting to keep his voice even as he twists his fingers through El’s, the warmth from her palms grounding him a little, “He doesn’t deserve me asking more from him.”

“Best friend,” El repeats faintly, and when Will glances up at her, her brow is furrowed in contemplation, like she’s thinking something over. “You are- special to each other, yes? Different than other best friends.”

Will frowns, unsure of what she’s getting at. “Um. I guess? I think that’s probably my fault, though.”

Something resembling a smirk tugs at the corners of El’s mouth, and her eyes are a little bit too wide and innocent when she meets Will’s gaze. “Maybe,” she hedges, in a tone that suggests something else. “I think you should talk to Mike,” she suggests, squeezing his hands, and Will immediately retracts his arms, shaking his head vehemently.

“No way,” he says immediately, scooting away from El and hunching in on himself like a physical reaction to the concept. “No, he’s- we’re finally in a good place again, I can’t do that to him.”

El squints. “Do you know if he likes boys?” she asks carefully, and the question itself sounds innocent enough, very El, always trying to get all the facts in order, but he senses that she’s gearing up to something, and he doesn’t like it.

Will clears his throat. “Uh- well, he’s never said, but- I don’t think so, no.”

“If he hasn’t told you,” El says, in her patented “logic” tone, steadfast and full of unearned confidence, “How would you know?”

“El,” Will says, huffing out a sharp breath, refusing to let that question sit with him for too long, “You’re overthinking this.” When she shoots him a confused look, he amends; “It’s like- thinking too hard. Making things more complicated than they are. Two words of the day today, ha.”

El is unimpressed. “I think you are underthinking it, then,” she says primly, “Or at least not considering all the options. Maybe it is actually more simple than you think.”

Will coughs, face flushed, and he tries not to think too hard about the how would you know, because he supposes he doesn’t know, but- “Okay, El, I appreciate your support,” he hedges, careful, and El sighs as she sees that he’s not going to let her run with this, “But I- I don’t think I really need the relationship advice right now.”

They stare each other down for a beat, long enough that Will gets fed up and shoots an I’m serious in the direction of her brain, and El shoots back a you’re annoying is what you are, and then she sits back on her heels, apparently satisfied.

“Okay,” she says simply, sending him a gentle smile, “Can we turn up the music now?”

#this got very byler-y whoops #was not part of the original plan #but oh well #byler fic #ficlets #st fic #mike wheeler #will byers #el hopper #willel

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