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Throughout the years, Lucas Sinclair always had an agenda.
Save Will Byers.
Get Max Mayfield to like him.
Join the basketball team to avoid bullying.
Save Max Mayfield from Vecna.
Help save the kids from Vecna.
Help save his friends, in general.
Wake Max up from her coma.
Date Max Mayfield again.
Live long enough to graduate high school.
Go to college.
There was always an agenda; always some kind of life-altering duty where Lucas forgot to breathe, to take a minute to stand still and simply be a boy. A teenager. A human being.
Even a brother to his overly obnoxious, baby sister, Erica.
Or a son to his parents.
Sometimes, he forgot what it meant to simply be Lucas Sinclair.
Despite the knight and zoomer loving each other, the two mutually broke up before the start of their first year in college; a fresh start with the promise of potentially finding their way back to each other one day.
If not, that was fine too.
They were permanently ingrained in each other's lives.
During his Freshman year in college, Lucas Sinclair learns four important things:
One, he enjoys his engineering classes.
Two, he loves New York City.
Three, Will Byers is an impeccable roommate.
Four, he is bisexual.
Only one of those things actually surprises him.
During those first couple of months, Will and Lucas fall into an easy routine in their cramped, two-bedroom apartment. They opt for off-campus living, quickly becoming overwhelmed with an abundance of classes, part-time shifts at their respective jobs, and everything else in between.
Despite the hustle and bustle of their busy lives, Lucas adores mornings the most.
Lucas wakes first, showers, and prepares for his day.
Will wakes second, and while he waits for Lucas to finish in the shower, he whips up their breakfast.
Toasted everything bagels from a nearby bakery, smothered in a generous helping of cream cheese. Freshly cut fruit - strawberries, blueberries, melon - alongside their favorite drinks; hot coffee for Lucas and orange juice with pulp for Will.
The smell of toasted bagels and roasted coffee grounds wafts in the air with the slightest, sweet freshness of the fruit. A warm, tantalizing scent with a hint of ripe, sugary brightness.
Lucas enters the kitchen, newly clean, fully-dressed, with a towel in hand. He pats at his dense, coily hair; just enough to pick up any stray droplets of water.
Early on in their new residency, Lucas fills Will in on his hair care routine and firmly set boundaries over the use of his products - as in - don't use them at all. His single-blade razors, shaving products, and coconut oil were strictly off-limits.
Much to Lucas' surprise, Will respects all of his boundaries.
On laundry day, when it's Will's turn, he washes everything with the utmost care, even following specific directions for Lucas' silk pillowcases.
Will limits his usage of their shared landline phone, except for those not-so-rare instances when Joyce keeps her son on the phone for extended periods of time. Lucas always smiles endearingly as he overhears bits of Will's side of the conversation.
He keeps the volume down late at night when he works on his latest art project. He leaves Lucas little notes when he plans on staying out late or picking up an extra shift at work. If he's already at work, Will calls the apartment and lets Lucas' know, or leaves a message on their answering machine.
Will never erases any messages for Lucas' on the machine, and if he answers the phone and it's for Lucas, Will writes down a detailed message on the notepad by the machine.
Even more importantly, Will contributes his share of finances to the bills on-time so neither of them worry about late fees or past due bills. If something arises, they work it out together.
On grocery day, Will buys Lucas' favorite, specialty blend coffee even though Will hates coffee. In fact, he purchases everything Lucas jots down on their grocery list within reason. If something is unavailable, Will buys an alternative; one they both agree upon.
Even now, as Lucas steps further into the kitchen, his eyes immediately spot his favorite, teal coffee mug on the counter beside the freshly-brewed pot of coffee.
Yes, Will Byers is an impeccable roommate.
"Good morning," Will beams at him brightly, even as a hint of sleepiness lingers in his voice.
Lucas smiles back, draping the damp towel over his shoulder. "Good morning."
He reaches for the handle of the coffee pot, curls his fingers around it, and grabs his coffee mug in the other hand. Tilting the pot upward, dark liquid pours out and slowly fills the mug; another airy wave of the delicious roast hitting his nostrils. Lucas returns the pot to the holder and it audibly clicks into place.
As Lucas turns around with his back pressed into the counter, he idly watches Will open one of their kitchen cupboards, stretching his arm upward to reach one of the drinking glasses on the shelf. Will's back slightly arches, and Lucas' eyes immediatly drift downward to the perfect curvature of Will's plump ass; the material of his sleep shorts clinging to its rounded fullness.
Lucas tears his eyes away guiltily as he brings his teal mug up to his lips, allowing the hot beverage to distract him.
He has no idea when he first starts to notice his roommate's body. That plump ass. Those plush thighs. Almost as if Will wears those shorts just to tease him; to taunt him.
Lucas notices other things too; the sparkle in Will's hazel-green eyes, the natural, pink-glow of Will's cheeks at any given time, the spattering of moles on his skin. One in particular rests right above his top lip. Sometimes Lucas glances at it unknowingly.
The way Will sometimes scrunches up his face and looks downright adorable. Even his bunny-like teeth fully on display as he smiles whole-heartedly.
Lucas is distracted by Will in so many new ways, which doesn't include all of the other traits he already likes about his friend. His kindness. His artistic talents. His quiet nature. His ability to overcome more hardships than one person should ever have to face.
Will's nerdiness. His love of Dungeons and Dragons. His occasional, dry sense of humor.
His big heart. His bravery. His acceptance of people and their differences.
Most importantly, the way Will can tear into Mike when he's acting like a complete idiot; emotionally stunted for the millionth time. And how Mike comes running a while later; apologetic for his stupidity.
Will seems to be the only individual who can talk some sense into Mike, and Lucas always appreciates it.
For now, Lucas ignores the quickening of his heart whenever his eyes linger on Will's body somewhere inappropriate for far too long. He blames it on the current dry spell in his love life; his series of failed first dates with men and women, along with not getting laid in quite some time.
As Will plucks his glass from the cupboard, then shuts it with a thud, Lucas sits down at their two-seater dining table. A plate resides on each end of the table with a toasted everything bagel smothered in cream cheese. Tiny bowls sit off to the side of the plates, each filled with the fresh fruit, and forks right beside the plates. Will literally thinks of everything needed for their breakfast.
Will quickly maneuvers over to the refrigerator, pulls out the carton of orange juice, and pours the pulpy juice into his glass, using his hip to keep the fridge door open. Of course, Lucas uses the moment to steal another quick glance of Will's lucious ass, only to look away with shame, even as his heart pitter-patters in his chest.
With an even louder thud than the kitchen cupboard, the refrigerator door clicks back into place as Will hurries over to the table. His glass of orange juice clinks against the surface of the table when he sets it down, and Will plops into his chair unceremoniously.
As a sign of respect for Will's efforts in the kitchen, Lucas refuses to start eating until Will sits down at the table with him.
Will picks up half of his bagel and bites into it with a muffled crunch thanks to the cream cheese, and chews the bite vigorously.
"Don't wait up for me tonight," he warns.
Lucas brings his slice of bagel up to his lips, raising an eyebrow at his roommate. "Why? You got a hot date tonight, or something?" He jokes teasingly before he sinks his teeth into the bagel.
Will nods with excitement; a twinkle in his eyes. The corner of his mouth pulls up into a lighthearted smile. "Yes, actually I do."
Lucas audibly swallows down his bite of bagel hard, as if he forgets to properly chew the entire bite. His hand reaches for his coffee mug, washing it down, but it somehow feels as if it lodged its way permanently in his throat.
His heart clenches tightly and anger bubbles in the pit of his stomach. The mere idea of Will with someone else - touching his body, making him smile, kissing him - it infuriates him.
And suddenly his mind wanders. Has Will ever been kissed? Has he even been on a date? Has he had sex? No. Lucas doesn't want to think about any of it.
Despite the storm brewing inside of him, Lucas pushes it all down easily with a perfectly masked disguise; a calm, collected look on his face. Even as his erratic, quickened heart rate totally betrays him.
"But it's Monday night," Lucas replies calmly. "We usually watch Wheel of Fortune with Mike on the phone."
Wheel of Fortune nights - as they label it - start about a month after they move into their apartment in New York City. With Mike in Chicago, and each of them having chaotic lives, they agree to watch Wheel of Fortune together on Monday nights. They stay on the landline throughout the duration of the show, shouting their guesses at the screen and at each other. It quickly fills their nights with laughter, then they chat for a few minutes after, catching up on their weekly adventures.
Will presses his lips into a thin line as a flicker of guilt etches its way into his eyes. "I know. It's the only night he is available, and the last night of this gallery showing I wanted to go to," he explains as he bites into his bagel again, chasing a dab of cream cheese away from the corner of his mouth with his tongue.
Dark brown eyes follow the path of Will's tongue, then dart back up to his roommate's face. Distracting himself, Lucas reaches for his fork, jabbing it ferociously into a piece of cantaloupe, then pops it into his mouth.
"Do you - Do you think Mike will be mad?" Will asks, his brow knitting together in concern as he looks at Lucas expectantly.
And how in the hell can Lucas be mad at Will when he looks like that? When he's practically seeking out his friend's approval?
Lucas immediately deflates, chewing his bite of melon slowly. "Don't worry about Mike. He'll get over it. Besides, we can always reschedule for another night," he reassures Will. "So, who's the lucky guy?"
Even as he asks it, the words are bitter on his tongue. Not even the cantaloupe can counteract it.
"His name is Carlton. He's friends with one of the girls in my mixed media class. We've chatted a few times after class when he met up with her, and he asked me out."
"Well, I hope you have a good time," Lucas offers a weak smile, even as he feels like his sincerity is nothing more than a lie. A pang of guilt crawls into the pit of his stomach as he instantly feels like a bad friend on top of it. He wants Will to be happy. He wants Will to find someone special. What the fuck is wrong with him?
"Feel free to call the apartment if you need me for anything," Lucas offers hesitantly. "If you need me to come get you. You get lost. Anything. I'm here."
Will smiles at him sweetly, the corner of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Lucas, it sounds like you want my date to fail?"
Lucas' eyes widen. "No!" He exclaims, then clears his throat, lowering his voice. "I don't know this guy, and I worry about you. I want you to be safe. So seriously - for anything - just call me."
Hazel-green eyes suddenly soften and sparkle all the while the smile on Will's face warms with genuine adoration over his friend's concern. "Okay, I will," he replies. "Thanks Lucas."
The rest of their breakfast passes by in pleasant silence aside from the crunching of toasted bagels and clinking of forks.
And the conflicting thoughts running rampant in Lucas' mind.
Around the usual time, Lucas preps the living room for his Wheel of Fortune night with Mike, even as disappointment settles into the pit of his stomach.
Honestly, he loves Monday nights because of his time with Will; their ears pressing against opposite sides of the phone receiver as they try to listen to Mike and the TV at the same time.
Their thighs and knees line up, side-by-side, as they sat sharing each other's warmth and closeness.
Now, there is an absence.
As much as Lucas appreciates his friendship with Mike, it's not the same without Will.
The TV hums in the background as Lucas pieces together a bologna and cheese sandwich with mayo - nothing spectacular - along with a handful of chips and a can of Coke. Without Will, there is no point in heating up a frozen pizza, or even ordering one from a local establishment.
When the phone rings, Lucas plucks the white receiver from the wall where it hangs, and places it against his ear. For the sake of their Wheel of Fortune nights, Lucas and Will bought a cordless phone with a metal antenna. Lucas uses his other hand to pull the metal antenna upward and out, ensuring he receives the best signal from every part of the apartment.
"Hello Mike," Lucas speaks into the bottom of the phone. He shrugs his shoulder upwards to keep the phone trapped against his ear, all the while he balances his plate of food in one hand, and his can of Coke in the other.
"Hey Lucas," Mike greets him on the other end.
There is a pause of silence as Lucas sits down on the navy loveseat in their cramped living room. Two lighter blue pillows reside on the couch, one on each end. There is an old afghan drapped over the back with one of those old, knitted, granny patterns; some hand-me-down from Will's side of the family. The color scheme clashes with the rest of the couch with shades of brown, orange, white, yellow, and a hint of black.
"Where's Will?" Mike asks instantly with a slight uptick in his tone; an obvious note of concern.
Lucas places his can of Coke down on the coffee table set in front of their couch, along with his plate of food. His eyes drift towards an abandoned sketchbook Will left on the table, open to one of his latest drawings; a yellow finch that kept landing on their windowsill and tapping the glass with its beak.
A couple of art books are stacked off-kilter on one end of the coffee table, the TV remote beside Lucas' plate, and one of his engineering textbooks safely rests at the corner, away from his food and drink. The TV stands on a small wooden table a few feet away; brown and bulky with metal knobs, and rabbit ears darting in different directions to keep the signal clear on the TV.
Lucas sighs quietly. "On a date."
Mike snorts loudly on the other end. "Jesus, Lucas. Could you sound any less enthused about it?"
Rolling his eyes, Lucas pops a potato chip into his mouth, hoping the loud crunching pisses Mike off. "I can't believe he ditched us for a date."
Mike chuckles lightheartedly through the phone. "It's kind of payback, when you think about it. Do you remember the summer before he left for Lenora? All he wanted to do was play Dungeons and Dragons, and we kept ditching him for our girlfriends."
"If I remember correctly, you kept ditching him for your girlfriend. Max and I at least tried to include him," Lucas defends himself. "He was worried about upsetting you, actually. I told him you'd get over it."
"Wow," Mike utters exasperatedly. "Kind of sounds like you're the one who needs to get over it."
Lucas bites into his sandwich, immediately regretting his decision due to the blandness of it. While it hit the spot - for the sake of hunger - the bologna, cheese, and mayo combination with white bread did nothing to exhilerate his tastebuds.
With a mouthful of food, he responds. "I don't know anything about this guy. He's a friend of a friend, apparently. I'm just worried about him. He never talks about going out on dates."
"Come on! Pick the letter N, you moron!" Mike shouts through the phone, which causes Lucas to grimace at the shrillness of Mike's voice. He pulls the receiver away from his ear for a brief second, eyes drifting towards the TV.
Lucas clearly forgets about the program on the television.
"Sorry," Mike grumbles through the receiver. "It always pisses me off when they don't pick the most obvious letters. Anyways, did you ever consider that maybe this is his first date? That there was nothing to tell before?"
Lucas swallows down his bite of sandwich and goes in for a second, unapologetic about chewing while on the phone to Mike, especially after he complained about his gum-chewing back in the day. "Mike, that's crazy," he utters in disbelief around his bite of food. "It's Will. He's beautiful."
The word slips from his mouth easily, but as the realization sinks in, Lucas stops mid-chew, his lips slightly part before he audibly swallows. Some of the food goes down his throat the wrong way, causing Lucas to cough. He pounds on his chest with his fist, then reaches for his can of Coke, chugging down a generous amount of the carbonated beverage.
"Jesus, are you alright?" Mike asks in worry.
"Yeah, yeah," Lucas replies raspily. "Went down the wrong pipe."
"Uh huh," Mike responds in disbelief. "You know, if you think Will is so beautiful, then maybe you should be the one asking him out on a date."
A rush of heat crawls into Lucas' cheeks, his dark skin tinted red. Thank God, Mike couldn't see him right now.
"Don't - Don't be ridiculous, Mike."
"Why is it ridiculous? He's Will. He's amazing."
"I don't know," Lucas admits with uncertainty. "If I'm being honest, you were always different with Will. If anyone is with him, I thought it would be you."
A long pause of silence.
"I don't recall telling anyone I'm queer," Mike states matter-of-factly. "And even if I am, it doesn't matter. I'm in Chicago and Will is in New York City. I want him to be happy."
Lucas remembers the day he told Will about his interest in men.
Will had hugged him comfortingly, thanked him for confiding in him. The embrace lasted longer than necessary as Lucas leaned into the warmth of his friend. Nothing about their dynamic changed, and if anything, it seemed easy; far too easy.
However, when Lucas told Mike, Will was seated on the couch beside him, nodding encouragingly at him with a bright smile plastered on his face. Will gave him courage.
"Mike, are you trying to tell me something?" Lucas asks, blinking repeatedly as he stares at the TV absentmindedly. The news could be on, talking about a recent murder, and he'd give a shit less at this point.
"I'm telling you that you don't need my permission to date Will, if that's what you want."
Avoidance. Typical, Mike Wheeler avoidance.
And yet, Lucas' heart skips a beat.
He could date Will, but did he want to?
"I don't know what I want," Lucas admits.
"Well, you better figure it out before this guy - what was his name?"
"Carlton."
"This guy - Carlton - sweeps Will off of his feet," Mike warns him, then starts chuckling on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry. Carlton? Does he go by Carl? That's just - It's the lamest name. I can't even picture Will with someone named Carlton."
The faintest hint of a smile pulls up at the corner of Lucas' mouth before he lets out a soft, humorous laugh. "You're right."
"Maybe you should date him for that reason alone," Mike jokes sarcastically.
"Maybe," Lucas replies, his voice dropping a couple of octaves, the humor leaving it. "I'm - I guess I'm worried it would ruin our friendship. Just because he's gay, it doesn't mean he feels that way about me. What if - What if he rejects me? What if it makes things awkward? I live with him, after all."
"Dude, it's Will," Mike laughs lightly. "Even if he does reject you, you would get the nicest, sincerest rejection, and he would feel absolutely guilty about it."
A small huff of air amusedly falls from Lucas' lips; smile returning to his face. "Yeah, you're probably right."
"Thanks Mike."
"Don't mention it."
For the remaining minutes of the show, Lucas eats his dinner, all the while Mike and him banter back and forth over the idiocy of the contestants in the show. Mike cusses at the guy who fails to solve the final puzzle, shouting the answer out loudly, like it's the most obvious solution.
Mike always had a way with words; in more ways than one.
Lucas dedicates some of his evening to one of his math assignments; a lengthy, laborous task which requires his full attention. However, as the night slowly drags on, Lucas bounces his leg up and down from where he sits on the couch, eyes darting to the clock on the far wall.
Eight o'clock.
Eight fifteen.
Eight twenty-three.
Eight thirty-seven.
Eight forty-eight
Eight fifty-two.
At nine-o-one, the doorknob twists, and the front door opens with a soft creak.
Will enters their apartment, hair wind-swept, shoulders hunched forward, and an unmistakable glassiness in his hazel-green eyes.
At the sight, Lucas' heart falls into the pit of his stomach. He hops up from his spot on the couch, and bridges the gap in about two seconds flat.
Will barely has time to shut the door before Lucas is right in front of him, hands on top of Will's shoulders; heavy and grounding.
Lucas' eyebrows hike up his forehead, worry dancing across his face in a wave of various emotions; panic, concern, fear, anxiety - he's not sure which one. Maybe all of them.
"Will, what's wrong? Are you okay? Did - Did he hurt you? Are you injured?" He asks in a flurry as his dark eyes roam over Will's frame, examining him for any possible injuries.
The dam breaks right before Lucas' eyes as Will's bottom lip quivers; the glassiness in his eyes turns into full-on tears rolling down his cheeks. "He - He stood me up," Will gets out between broken sobs.
"I waited - for over an hour," he hiccups. "I - I didn't - even - get to see - the gallery."
"I'm going to kill him," Lucas snaps between clenched teeth. Fierce protectiveness rages through every fiber of his being as he pulls Will into a tight embrace.
Will shakes against Lucas, as one heart-wrenching sob after another wrecks him. He clutches the front of Lucas' t-shirt, face buried in the fabric.
Lucas' chest tightens as one of his hands slowly rub up and down Will's back, trying to soothe him to the best of his abilities. "Shh, it's okay. He's - He's a loser. He doesn't deserve you, okay?"
After a couple of minutes, Will leans back, eyes red and puffy, cheeks tear-stained, sniffling loudly as he wipes at his slick eyes. "S-Sorry," he apologizes. "I - I feel so stupid." A streak of wetness coats the back of his hand.
"Don't - Don't say that," Lucas shakes his head vehemently, his brow knitting together in genuine worry.
Will sniffles as he wipes at his eyes again. "I guess - I'm just - not supposed to be happy."
"Come on, Will. That's not true."
"Take a look around, Lucas. Who is lined up to date me?" He asks rhetorically, bitterness in his voice. "I'm Will Byers. The same freak from Hawkins who can't catch a break."
"I'm sure there are plenty of nice guys who would be willing to date you, Will."
"Oh yeah, like who?" Will quips back incredulously. "You? How come you've never asked me out, Lucas?"
Lucas blinks, completely caught off-guard. His heart hammers in his chest as those hazel-green eyes stare at him expectantly. Maybe it's Will's directness, his uncharacteristically harsh tone, but something about it causes Lucas' brain to short-circuit.
"What?" Lucas scoffs loudly. "Because I'm bisexual and interested in guys, you think I should be interested in you?" He shoots back defensively, the words slipping past his lips.
It takes him a second before he realizes the harshness of his words; how awful they sound. The accidental rejection laced between them. The personal jab he unintentionally directs at his friend.
You.
It's not neccessarily the word in and of itself, but the tone behind it.
The implication that there is - in fact - something wrong with Will and that's why he never asks him out on a date.
Lucas watches in real-time as Will's face falls right before his eyes.
The hurt is immediate, like a slap to his already fractured ego. Like someone already stabbed Will, and Lucas twisted the blade.
Lucas' heart plops into the pit of his stomach, devoured by the acid as it burns away the muscle fraction-by-fraction. A once, thriving heart, turns into a beatless, dead organ, destroyed by his own stupidity.
"Will, that - that didn't come out right. I'm so-"
"It's fine, Lucas," Will responds coldly. Calm, collected, face completely deadpan.
Right now, Lucas almost prefers Will sobbing against him, heartbroken by the asshole named Carlton, and not because of his own stupidity.
"No, it's not," Lucas shakes his head, completely apologetic. Fear bubbles in the pit of his stomach, or maybe it's the consumption of his own heart. "I'm sorry."
"I said it's fine, Lucas," Will snaps, voice raising a couple of octaves. The spark in his hazel-green eyes has disappeared completely. There is a dullness there; lackluster. Speckles of green vanishing into cool grey.
Will's tone and choice of words reminds him of the last time Will snapped at him like that; the day Lucas tried to apologize for not being interested in his Dungeons and Dragons campaign.
Back when Will dealt with the Mindflayer. When he clearly struggled with his sexual orientation, and the rest of them fussed over their girlfriends.
"I'm - I'm going to my room," Will utters in a hushed whisper, eyes shifting to the floor.
Lucas swallows hard as he shakes his head. "Did - Did you eat anything? You - You should eat something."
"I'm not hungry," Will replies quietly, then heads towards his bedroom.
As the door to Will's room clicks into place, Lucas stands there in the middle of the apartment; lost and confused. A couple of hours ago, he told Mike how much he worried about Will rejecting him, and somehow, he did it instead.
After a half an hour, Lucas makes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, pours milk into a glass, and carries it on a plate to Will's room.
He stacks the plate on top of the glass, balancing it. His fingers curl into a fist, knuckles tapping lightly on Will's door.
"I'm coming in," Lucas warns him, not waiting for an answer. Not waiting for permission.
Lucas reaches for the door knob, turns it, then slowly pushes open the door. Much to his surprise, Will sits on his bed, leg bent at the knee, sketchbook propped up on his leg. One hand glides over the paper frantically, pencil scratching against the toothy surface.
"I made you something to eat," Lucas mentions casually. It's a peace offering; a weak one at best.
"I'm not hungry," Will replies blandly, not looking up from his sketchbook.
Lucas notices the way Will's lips briefly purse together off to the side. A blink-of-an-eye kind of moment. A tell-tale sign of his failed indifference.
"It's not up for debate," Lucas quips back with sharp sternness. "You need to eat."
Hazel-green eyes shoot up to Lucas' face as surprise washes over Will's features. For a second, he presses his lips together into a thin line of irritation, then willingly gives up. A small, nearly inaudible sigh falls from his mouth as he carefully places his sketchbook on the bed beside him.
Lucas takes this as permission to fully enter Will's room. He pads over to the edge of the bed then sits down on it. He hands Will the plate with the sandwich, then sets the glass down on his nightstand.
Cautiously, Will accepts the plate, picks up the sandwich, and bites into it hungrily. In that moment, his stomach growls loudly; the utmost betrayal to his earlier words. As he chews the combination of creamy peanut butter and grape jelly, Will scoots over to the edge of the bed, his free hand wrapping around the cool glass of milk. After all, peanut butter always goes down better with milk.
Lucas runs a hand over his face; an attempt at washing away his nerves and frustrations. "Will, I - I really am sorry. What I said - I didn't meant it. I don't even know why I said it. I think - because you were so upset - then I was upset. I just said something stupid."
A loud, inhale of breath echoes in the room. "I don't think you even realize how amazing you are, Will. And I would hate for you to think less of yourself because of something moronic I said, that I don't even believe," Lucas apologizes wholeheartedly. "Any guy would be lucky to have you, even me."
Will swallows down his current bite of sandwich, as he remains silent for a long moment. "You're just saying that because we're friends."
A small huff of air rushes past Lucas' nostrils in amusement. "Are we friends?" He asks rhetorically, shifting sideways so he can properly look at Will. "After what I said, I wouldn't blame you if you hate my guts."
The faintest hint of a smile forms on Will's lips. "Yes, we're friends. No, I don't hate your guts," he admits while he rolls his eyes dramatically. "I'm sorry too, you know," he apologizes, biting down on his bottom lip for a second. "I shouldn't have said that. It was unfair to you. You were right. You're bi. That - That doesn't mean I'm entitled to your interest. We're friends and I overstepped."
Somewhere in the back of Lucas' mind, he feels like this is an outright rejection, or maybe he is failing to read between the lines.
Your interest.
Did Will want Lucas to be interested in him?
As Will takes another bite of his sandwich, Lucas shakes his head. "No, I get it. You were stood up by an asshole and clearly upset. But you need to take care of yourself, okay?" He nods towards the plate in Will's hand, eyes filled with sincerity. "And don't let him get you down. I meant what I said. There are other guys out there who would love to date you. Just give it time."
Will nods slowly, then reaches for his glass of milk, gulping down half of the contents. Even as he smiles sheepishly at Lucas, there is something unreadable in his expression. Disbelief? Hurt? Loneliness?
Coldness settles into the pit of Lucas' gut, the acid of his stomach leaving nothing in its wake. He hates the idea of Will feeling any of those things, and right now, he's unable to combat any of it.
"Thank you for the food," Will utters graciously as he chews with his mouth full.
"Any time," Lucas smiles at him.
The next couple of weeks pass by relatively the same. They fall into their typical routines as they share chores around the apartment, take turns cooking breakfast in the morning, and move around one another gracefully.
They finish finals, which then turns into plans for the upcoming holidays.
On Monday, they have one last Wheel of Fortune night with Mike; the phone receiver pressing between their ears on either side. Both of them idly munch on a plate of pizza rolls as the TV illuminates with the program in question.
Lucas relishes in the warmth; his knee and thigh firmly against Will's in their rightful place.
"Tell Joyce and Hopper Merry Christmas for me," Mike says on the opposite end of the line.
Will smiles brightly, even though Mike can't see him. "I will, but you know - you're welcome any time in Montauk. They both said it," he explains as he bites into the pizza roll, some of the gooey contents spilling out the end of it and falling onto his shirt.
"Shit!" Will exclaims, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout over the mess.
"What happened?" Mike questions worriedly.
"His pizza roll attacked him, guts and all," Lucas chimes in with an amused huff of laughter.
A lighthearted rumble erupts from the phone.
Since Lucas holds onto the receiver, he watches as Will hops up from the couch to retrieve a napkin from the kitchen. Of course, his eyes follow the curvature of Will's ass; this time in his denim jeans.
"Lucas, are you going to Montauk?" Mike asks curiously.
"Nah," he replies, completely distracted at the sight before him. "Erica and my parents are flying here so I can show them around the city."
After Will wipes up the mess on his shirt, he plops back down onto the couch. Lucas tilts the phone sideways, allowing Will access to it once more.
"Yeah, I'm going home for the holidays. Apparently, Holly really misses me, but I think it's mostly my mom," Mike chuckles fondly. Will and Lucas share a look, which says they both can see the way Mike's eyes crinkle from his laughter. That even if Mike sounds annoyed, he thinks it's really endearing either way.
"Tell them Merry Christmas for me," Will beams cheerily.
"Yeah, me too," Lucas adds.
After the game show ends, they say their goodbyes to Mike, then return the phone back to its proper place. A silence falls between them; the rest of their pizza rolls eaten, and some other show starts to play on the TV.
"You all packed and ready for your trip tomorrow?" Lucas asks quietly, trying to fill the awkward silence. There usually isn't an awkward silence between them unless one of them has something on their mind, but right now, Lucas has the distinct suspicion that perhaps too much is being left unsaid.
"Mhm," Will hums happily. "You probably won't see me in the morning. The bus Jonathan and I are taking to Montauk leaves really early."
"Well, I hope I see you before you leave," Lucas flashes him a bright, pearly smile. "But if not, Merry Christmas, Will. Happy New Year. Happy Holidays. Whatever."
"You too, Lucas," Will smiles back sweetly.
"And call me when you get there."
"Okay, okay."
First thing in the morning, Lucas wakes up and follows his usual routine. He showers, dresses, and then steps foot into the kitchen.
None of the blinds are open in the apartment, so darkness still consumes nearly every inch of it.
Lucas makes quick work of pulling the cords on every blind, pushing back a couple of curtains, and fully illuminating the cramped apartment.
However, now it seems entirely too empty.
As Lucas reenters the kitchen, he spots a folded note on the countertop along with a small, black giftbox held shut by a shimmery, golden ribbon.
Lucas opens the note from Will.
Merry Christmas, Lucas!
I wanted to make sure you got your Christmas gift, even if you do open it early.
I hope you like it!
Love,
Will
Love Will.
Lucas' fingertips ghost over the words written in black ink on the stark, white paper. As his heart flutters in his chest, he places the paper on the countertop, then reaches for the pristine gift box. He pulls one of the ribbon ends, untying the material. He lifts the lid off the box, his dark eyes falling upon a pair of tickets to see a New York Knicks basketball game.
He stares at the tickets in complete awe, wondering how Will could even afford them.
As he returns the box to the countertop, an uneasiness settles upon him. A coldness creeps into the pit of his stomach.
Almost immediately, it hits Lucas like a ton of bricks, or if someone dumped an entire bucket of ice water over his head.
The apartment is eerily quiet. Lifeless. Missing an atmosphere he knows and loves more than anything.
There is an absence of freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air.
The scent of toasted everything bagels is missing too.
Dirty dishes fill the sink.
His teal coffee mug is amongst the clutter; not properly placed in its spot beside the coffee pot.
In fact, the coffee pot is empty. No specialty blend. No nothing.
No Will reaching for his glass in the cupboard.
And that's exactly the problem.
There is no Will.
Without Will, there is no light. No coffee. No clean mug. No noise in the apartment.
Without Will, an unpleasant emptiness has taken root in his stomach. His chest tightens, his heart sinks. He feels ill.
This onslaught of change is the final nail in the coffin; the final slap to his face to push the hard truth into the forefront of his mind.
I'm in love with Will.
The phone unexpectedly rings from its rightful place on the wall, causing Lucas to visibly jump. He hurries over, plucks it from the wall, and pushes the proper button, all while his heart beats rapidly in high hopes of it being Will on the other end.
Much to his surprise, his mother is the person in question. As his eyes shift to the clock on the far wall, he realizes it's too early for Will to call him.
Lucas blinks as he tries to focus on his mother's voice, pulling him back to his harsh reality.
"Woah, woah. Calm down. What's going on?" Lucas questions as his mother rambles a mile a minute.
"Your flight got cancelled? Why?" Lucas asks.
Snow.
Apparently, a large snowstorm currently blanketed a massive portion of the country, especially the Midwest. Their flight - and many others - were immediately cancelled due to unsafe conditions.
Lucas hurries over to the window. Soft, white flurries slowly fall and shimmer down onto the ground below. Only a light dusting currently coats the tops of the buildings and roads below, but a sense of dread erupts within him.
Will.
"Well, if you can't come, that's okay. I understand," Lucas replies, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment, even as he worries more about his friend.
If anything, he should have taken Will up on his offer to stay in Montauk for the holidays, as it means spending the holidays alone in their tiny apartment.
After Lucas ends the conversation with his mother, he returns the receiver to its place on the wall.
Lucas stands there in the middle of the kitchen, unable to process this series of events.
However, no more than a couple of minutes after he last speaks to his mother, the doorknob to the front door twists.
It's odd since only one other person has a key to the apartment besides Will and Lucas, and he highly doubts Jonathan would be opening the door.
Will Byers - in the flesh - steps through the threshhold. A dusting of powdery white snow coats his brown locks and the shoulder of his coat. He carries his suitcase and backpack through the door, then places them down off to the side.
As soon as the door clicks back into place, Lucas wraps his arms around Will in a warm embrace, squeezing him tightly.
"Ngh!" Will squeaks in surprise.
"What are you doing here?!" Lucas questions in complete glee.
"They cancelled all the bus routes because of this stupid snowstorm," Will grumbles, his shoulders hiked up around his neck from the way Lucas squeezes him. "Can't breathe."
"Shit! Sorry!" Lucas exclaims as he releases Will from his death-grip, but his palms rest on top of Will's shoulders.
"I'm so glad you're here," Lucas beams at him, bright-eyed, his heart alight.
"Lucas, I wasn't gone very long. What would you have done if I really was gone the entire time," he giggles amusedly.
"Crash and burn, apparently. I - " his voice cuts off, thick with emotion. His eyes dart to the countertop as he's instantly reminded of how he felt in Will's brief absence.
Lucas' heart hammers against his ribcage as it threatens to burst out of his chest.
Will is here.
Light returns to the apartment, along with a comfortable warmth due to the man standing in front of him. The heaviness from his chest disappears, and his skin tingles, as if Will's very presence restores life to his veins.
The apartment is a home again, because Will is what makes it his home.
Dark brown eyes meet hazel-green orbs, and something tugs at Lucas' heartstrings.
He swallows thickly, overcome with intense emotion. The Will who stands before him is not the same boy who shoved him aside and yelled over a game of Dungeons and Dragons.
This is a man who makes sure Lucas' teal coffee cup is clean. A man who brews Lucas a fresh pot of coffee every morning. A man who respects Lucas' boundaries in their living space. A man who watches silly game shows with him. That man - Will - has taken a special place in his heart.
"Lucas, are you okay?" Will asks in a hushed whisper as his eyes fill with worry. They flicker over Lucas' face, trying to read his expression.
Lucas nods very slowly. His eyebrow knits together. His eyes glisten. "When I woke up this morning, the apartment was too quiet."
"Well, I'm here now," Will offers an uncertain smile.
Lucas shakes his head. "No, please, let me -" he cuts himself off, swallowing audibly. "First, I found the gift you left me, which thank you. That - I don't even know how you pulled that one off, but the tickets are amazing."
"One of my classmates - her dad is on the team," Will mentions casually.
"Wait? Really?" Lucas asks in awe, eyes wide. He shakes his head again, closes his eyes briefly, trying to get back on track. "No, nevermind. That's beside the point."
He inhales deeply, trying to calm his nerves. "I started to notice all these little things. The quietness of the apartment. The dirty dishes in the sink, including my teal mug. It's always on the counter beside the coffee pot, which also has a freshly brewed pot in it."
"Yeah, sorry about that -"
"No, no. Don't apologize. That's not the point," Lucas sighs in frustration. "Just listen, please."
Will nods, his eyes focusing, but the confusion etches into his brow.
"You always put my teal coffee mug by the coffee pot. You always brew a fresh pot despite hating coffee. You always make sure to pick up my specialty blend from the store," Lucas explains, his voice heavy with desperation for Will to understand him, to understand the pull in his chest; the invisible string pulling him towards Will.
"You buy those everything bagels from the local bakery we both like. You always put the right amount of cream cheese on them. You cut fresh fruit," he pauses for a second to really look at Will now.
"You never use my bathroom products. You always respect my space and privacy. And while some of those things are expected, a lot of it isn't. You don't have to buy my specialty blend coffee. You don't have to brew a fresh pot. You don't have to clean my mug. You don't have to put it by the coffee pot for me in the morning."
"Living with you is easy, Will."
"Loving you is easy."
"Will, I'm in love with you."
The confession hangs heavy in the air as Lucas faces the possibility of rejection and months of awkwardness until both of them part ways; finding a new place to live as they finish out their college years separately.
A friendship on the line, possibly in ruins.
Will's lips part as a shaky breath falls from them, his hazel-green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Everything Will ever wants and needs is held within those words, and he wants to bottle them, keep them forever.
"I know," Will replies before the tears burst past the surface, rolling down his cheeks freely.
Lucas' blinks; his chest tightens. He prepares for the worst. "You know?"
"Yes, you dumby," Will lets out a watery laugh, then sniffles. "You buy the orange juice with pulp in it and you never drink it because you don't like orange juice with pulp. You buy it because I like it."
"Well, yeah, but -"
"No, it's my turn now," Will practically shushes him, and Lucas truly listens.
"It's the way you make sure I eat - even when I tell you I'm not hungry. You know I'm in a bad mood, so you push me because you care about my well-being. It's the way you let me cry on your shoulder because some asshole stood me up, and you're not embarrassed."
Will lets out a soft sob as his hand reaches up to wipe away some of the tears; his cheeks stained and red.
"You never treat me like I'm broken or someone who needs to be fixed," Will explains and this time their is weight to his words. His eyes flicker downward for a second, then back up to meet Lucas' dark eyes once more. "I wear those ridiculously short sleep shorts because I know you're staring at my ass. I - I want you to notice."
Lucas' tongue peaks out to moisten his lips, breath catching in his throat. "Y-Yeah?" He questions as a tinge of crimson stains his cheeks.
"Yes," Will nods as he wipes away more tears; a streak of wetness coating the back of his hand. "What - What I'm trying to say is - "
"I love you too, Lucas."
"You do?"
Will nods as he fights back more tears; tears of happiness.
Lucas' entire face lights up with joy and the brightest smile splits his face; pearly whites and all.
Without another word, Lucas' hands find Will's face, cupping his cheeks warmly, then bridges the gap between them. His lips press against Will's slowly, gently.
It's not a desperate kiss. It's not needy.
It's tender. Warm. Easy.
Their love is easy.
Loving Will isn't another one of Lucas' agendas on his list.
It's not a battle leading up to a war.
It's the calm after the storm.
Because loving Will is easy.
With Will, he can simply be Lucas Sinclair.