Chapter Text
When Max was 13 years old, her stepbrother Billy died in the mall uptown. It wasn't as if she liked him, and under any other circumstances really she would have been happy but in this case, she blamed herself.
The mall had been packed that day, a sea of shoppers all looking for the perfect Christmas gifts. Max had been with Billy, their mother having sent them to the toy store while she shopped for clothes. Max had been bored out of her mind, Billy was an ass, and he didn't understand why he had to spend his afternoon babysitting his stepsister.
They got separated at some point, the same time that some older teens, around Billy's age in fact, decided to set the building on fire.
Max had been at scoops ahoy, where she met up with El. Billy had been off doing his own thing, probably causing trouble as per usual. She had heard the alarms, the screams, and had seen the smoke billowing from the upper levels of the mall. Her heart had stopped in her chest, her thoughts racing as she searched frantically for Billy or her mother.
Her mother had emerged from the chaos first, her eyes wide with terror. The two had scrambled their way out the building along with dozens of others, their hearts racing in their chests like trapped animals. They had called Billy's name until their throats were raw, but he remained lost in the smoke and screams. Max had felt a cold dread seep into her bones, a premonition that grew stronger as the hours dragged on without any sign of her stepbrother.
Her pathetic excuse of a stepfather had left her mother not long after that, selling the house before he disappeared.
The trailer park was the only place they could afford, a sad collection of metal boxes on wheels that looked like they hadn’t seen a lick of paint in decades. Max had watched her mother crumble from the inside out, her eyes hollowing as she turned to the bottle for comfort. The once vibrant woman who had held her hand through the aisles of the burning mall now barely had the energy to get out of bed, let alone cook or clean. The trailer was a mess, but Max, at the age of 14, had learned to keep it from looking like a tornado had hit it.
The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Max took on the role of both parent and child, juggling her schoolwork with the responsibilities of keeping their tiny home from falling apart. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke was a constant presence, a toxic cloud that hung over every room, every conversation. Her mother’s laughter had become a distant memory, replaced by the slurred words and shattered promises of sobriety that never came.
Max had started coming over to my house more, my mum and Hopper had moved in properly together at that point so anytime Max would come to see El I would end up hanging out with the two. Soon she was coming over almost every night, we always set a place for her at the table during dinner, it became routine. And it was after those dinners, when El was out with Mike, that Max and I began to relate to each other in a way we never had before.
We'd sit in the living room, the TV playing something in the background, as she talked about the day she'd had. Her schoolwork, her mother, her fears. And I'd listen, really listen, because it was the first time she'd ever talked to me like that. She was so strong, so fierce, and yet so utterly broken inside. And in her, I saw a mirror to myself. The two of us, trying to hold it together in a world that didn't seem to care if we fell apart.
The bond between us grew stronger with each passing night. We'd share secrets, dreams, fears. Sometimes we'd just sit in silence, the only sound being the crackling of rain and the tick of the clock on the wall. It was in those moments that I realized she was more than just El's friend; she was my friend too. And in her, I had found a confidant, someone who understood the weight of the world pressing down on us both.
When the day came for me to check into rehab after my overdose, I told everyone that I wasn't allowed visitors (other than family) for the six weeks. It was a lie, of course, but it was a lie that I needed to tell. A lie that kept everyone at bay, except for Max.
Max, with her fiery hair and fiercer spirit, one of the only people that didn't;t make me feel small, showed up. She'd visit every few days, bringing me contraband snacks and art supplies she'd stolen from the shops. Her visits were the highlight of my rehab stint. She didn't judge me, didn't treat me like a lost cause, and she never talked down to me. She talked to me like I was still a person, like the drugs hadn't taken everything good from me. And maybe, just maybe, she saw something in me that I didn't.
"Jesus, Eddie. What the fuck did he take?" Max's voice was sharp with concern as she took in the sight of Will slumped against the armrest, his eyes glazed over.
"Fentanyl," Eddie murmured, his shoulders drooping with defeat. "It was an accident. I didn't know what to do."
"Okay," Max sighed, her eyes never leaving Will. "Help me get him to my trailer, my mums not home." She stepped closer to Will, her arm slipping under his. He barely registered her presence, his body boneless and pliant. "Jesus fucking christ, he's like a rag doll." She says, concern painting her face.
Together, they manage to hoist Will up, his legs dragging on the ground like dead weight. The cold night air slaps him in the face as they step outside, the stark contrast to the warm trailer making him shiver. The walk is a blur, a stumbling dance of two trying to keep one upright. Will's eyes are half-closed, the world a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. The cold is a distant whisper against his skin, a ghostly presence that barely registers through the haze.
They stumble through the trailer park, each step echoing the erratic rhythm of Will's racing heart. The moon casts a silver glow over the rusted metal and broken dreams of the park's residents. Max's arm is a steel band around Will's waist, her grip tight and determined. Eddie's hand under Will's arm is a silent apology, a plea for forgiveness that Will can't hear through the buzzing in his ears.
Max's trailer is a beacon in the darkness, a bastion of order amidst the chaos. The lights are off, but the door isn't locked. They manage to navigate the narrow hallway, the walls seemingly closing in as Will's legs give out, and they half-carry, half-drag him to Max's bedroom. The room is neat, to Max's standards at least. They lay him down with care, his breathing shallow but steady.
Eddie turns him onto his side in case he throws up while Max grabs a bin to place next to the edge of the bed.
"Call me if he overdoses," Eddie says, his voice tight with anxiety.
Max nods, her eyes never leaving Will's face. "I will."
Eddie lingers for a moment, his hand hovering over Will's forehead before finally pulling away. He casts one last look at the two of them, a mix of regret and fear swirling in his gaze. Then, with a final squeeze of Will's shoulder, he turns and leaves the trailer, the door clicking shut behind him like a gunshot in the quiet night.
Max watches him go, her chest tight with the weight of the situation. She's seen Will messed up before, but not like this in a long time. Fentanyl is a beast she's heard about but never had to face, and the sight of him so vulnerable sends a shiver down her spine. She turns her full attention to Will, her mind racing with what to do next. The urge to scream, to yell, to shake him until he's okay is almost overwhelming, but she knows that won't help. Instead, she takes a deep breath and climbs over him to slide into the bed, her hand gently rubbing his back in what she hopes is a soothing rhythm.
"M' sorry.." Will mumbles through tears but Max hushes him, running nimble fingers through his hair.
"It's not your fault," she whispers, her voice soothing despite the knot of anger in her stomach. "You're gonna be okay, Will."
Max's words hang in the air like a lifeline in a stormy sea. Will's eyelids grow heavier, the world around him slowly fading into a symphony of shadows and whispers. The warmth of the bed and Max's steady presence lull him into a place where the chaos of the night seems a distant memory. The Fentanyl sings a sweet, seductive lullaby, and despite his best efforts, the darkness pulls him under.
Will remembers vividly that sometime in the night, maybe the early morning, Max's mum had walked in on the scene. She'd looked at Max, then at Will, then at the bin, and she hadn't said a word. She'd just walked back out, leaving them alone with their secrets and their fear. Max had held Will through the night, her eyes never closing, her hand never leaving his back. She'd whispered stories about their childhood, about the good times. Will had listened, his mind swimming in the opioid sea, clinging to her voice like a lifebuoy.
.::.
"Are you sure you're okay to walk home? You can stay here longer." Max says, lingering in the doorway as Will stands on her porch.
The sun is just peeking over the horizon, painting the trailer park in a soft, rosy glow. The cold has burned off with the night, leaving a crispness to the air that feels like a slap in the face after the stuffiness of the trailer. Will nods, his head feeling like it's full of cotton. "Yeah, I'll be fine." He mumbles, his voice hoarse. "Thank you Max, I'm sorry."
Max rolls her eyes, "Don't say sorry to me." She says, her voice a mix of exasperation and affection. "Just don't do that shit again, okay?"
Will nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'll try," he promises, his voice still shaky from the aftermath of the Fentanyl.
The morning is a gentle slap in the face after the tumultuous night. The trailer park is eerily quiet, the only sound the distant hum of a car engine breaking the silence. As Will takes the first few steps towards the main road. His house is a few blocks away and it'll give him plenty of time to remember how much of an asshole he is.
His thoughts are jumbled, a mess of regret and confusion. He'd told his parents he was crashing at Dustin's, a lie that now felt like a noose around his neck.
As Will stumbles home in the late morning, the quiet of the trailer park seems to amplify the echoes of his footsteps. Each step feels like a confession, a silent admission of his relapse. He can't help but wonder if his mother will notice anything different about him, if she'll be able to smell the stale scent of Chance or see the dark circles that the Fentanyl has etched beneath his eyes.
When he finally reaches the shabby exterior of his house, the sun is fully up, casting long shadows that stretch out like fingers from the buildings around him. He fumbles with the keys in the lock, his hands still shaking slightly from the aftermath of the drug. The door swings open with a creak that seems to announce his arrival to the whole world.
"I'm home!" He calls out as he kicks off his shoes, not sure if anyone was even awake yet.
"In here, mi hijo!" His mum calls out from the kitchen, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. Will's heart skips a beat, but he manages to compose himself and shuffles in.
His mother is in her usual spot at the counter, a cigarette dangling from her lips as she flips through the newspaper. She glances up at him, smiling warmly. "How was Dustins?"
Will's heart races as he tries to play it cool. "It was fine, just had a bit too much to drink." He says, hoping his voice doesn't betray him. "We played Mario kart mostly."
His mum nods in understanding, "No drugs though?"
Will's breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his chest. "No drugs," he lies.
His mother's gaze lingers on him for a moment, a hint of suspicion in her eyes, before she nods and returns to her paper. "Good," she murmurs, the smoke from her cigarette curling around her head like a halo of doubt. "Just remember, if you ever need anything, you can always come to me." she pauses to think for a moment as if there's something she forgot. "Oh! Mike's in your room by the way. He came round' earlier but you weren't here so he asked If he could wait in your room, I said yes, I hope that's okay."
Panic grips Will's chest like a vice, and he nearly chokes on his own breath. "What? What's he doing here?" He manages to ask, his voice a croak.
"Don't worry," she says, flicking ash into the sink. "I'm sure it's nothing bad."
The words hang in the air, thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and Will's guilt. He nods, his throat tight. "Thanks, Mom."
He walks up the stairs, his legs feeling like jelly, each step echoing his dread. His heart pounds in his chest like a drum announcing his impending doom. He opens the door to find Mike pacing, his eyes wild with anxiety.
"Will!" Mike's voice cracks as he rushes over. "Where the fuck did you go last night?" His eyes dart to Will's face, searching for answers.
Will stares at him, confused. "What do you mean?" Mike drove off on him , last time he checked.
"Last night," Mike says, his voice tight.
Will's eyes widened, "What about it?"
Mike stops pacing, his hands balled into fists at his side. "When I left you, I was a complete asshole. When I turned around at the end of the street, I realized what a shit I had been. So I drove back, but when I got here, you were gone." The accusation in his voice is palpable, hanging in the air like a toxic fog. "I was so scared, Will. I-I thought something bad happened to you."
Will's stomach churns, the lie of his whereabouts sticking in his throat like bile. The weight of his guilt is a physical presence, crushing down on his shoulders. He tries to form words, to explain, but nothing comes out. Mike's gaze is unrelenting, a storm of worry and anger brewing in his eyes. "You don't get it, do you?" Mike says, his voice shaking. "You just don't get it."
Will's heart feels like it's breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. The love he had for Mike, the love he thought was reciprocated, now feels like a mirage in the desert of their friendship. He wants to tell Mike everything—about the relapse, about Chance, about the dark pit of despair that has swallowed him whole—but the words are lodged in his throat, trapped by his own fear and shame. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a pitiful, "I'm sorry."
Mike's face falls, the realization dawning on him like a terrible sunrise. "What happened, Will?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The anger has drained from him, leaving only concern and a deep, aching sadness.
Will's eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at Mike. "I-I just... needed to get out," he stammers, his voice shaking. "I was walking, and this guy... he just pulled over." The words come out in a rush, like a dam bursting under the weight of his guilt. "I didn't mean to scare you, I didn't think you'd turn around."
Mike's stomach plummets, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a ton of bricks. The words "random guy" and "pulled over" form a dark picture in his mind, one that sends a chill down his spine. He takes a tentative step closer to Will, as if he might catch him if he falls. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
Will sighs heavily, the weight of his secrets a crushing burden. "He just... drove me to Eddie's," he confesses, his eyes finally meeting Mike's. "I didn't know what else to do, so I got fucked up." The truth spills out of him like a river breaking through a dam, the force of it surprising even himself. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mike." Will sobs, collapsing to the ground.
Mike's eyes widen in shock, his fists unclenching. He rushes over to Will, his knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. "You didn't... you didn't..." He can't even form the words, his mind racing. "You're okay?"
Will nods, his eyes brimming with tears. "Yeah," he whispers, his voice raw from crying. "It was just... a really bad night. I'm sorry for taking it out on you, you don't deserve it." He sobs and Mike pulls him closer to his chest.
Mike's arms wrap around Will, his embrace tight and protective. "You're okay," he repeats, as if willing the words to be true. "We're gonna get through this, Will. I'm not going anywhere." His voice is firm, the promise in his eyes unwavering. "I love you so much."
The words hang in the air, thick and heavy. Will's heart feels like it's going to burst from his chest, the love and fear and guilt all colliding into a supernova of emotion. And in that moment, all the walls he's built up come crashing down. He leans into Mike, his forehead resting against his chest, and sobs. Mike's heart is racing, but he holds onto Will, his hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.
Then, without thinking, Will lifts his head, and their eyes meet. In that moment, all the unspoken truths, all the hidden desires, all the pain and love and fear, it all culminates into something so potent that it steals the air from their lungs. And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, their lips meet.
The kiss is tentative at first, a question in the form of a touch. But as Will's arms slide around Mike's neck, pulling him closer, it turns into something more. Something desperate and raw and real. It's a declaration of love and understanding, a promise that no matter how fucked up things get, they'll face it together. It's a kiss that says "I see you," and "I'm here," and "You're not alone."
The kiss deepens, the taste of each other's fear and regret mingling with the sweetness of their friendship. Will's hands roam over Mike's shoulders, his fingers tangling in his hair. Mike's hands slide up Will's back, pressing him closer, as if trying to meld their bodies into one. They kiss like it's the first time, and the last time, and every moment in between. It's a kiss that speaks of a love that's been simmering beneath the surface for too long, a love that's been denied and ignored and now, finally, acknowledged.
The room around them fades away, and all that's left is the warmth of their bodies pressed together, the sound of their breaths mingling, the feel of their hearts beating in sync. For the first time in what feels like forever, Will feels alive. And for Mike, it's like he's finally found the piece of himself that's been missing, the piece that makes everything else make sense.
They pull apart slowly, their breaths coming in gasps. Will's eyes are wide with shock and wonder, and Mike's are filled with a softness that Will has seen so many times before. They just stare at each other for a moment, the weight of what just happened hanging in the air like a fragile web of spider silk.
"What does this mean?" Will whispers, his voice shaky.
Mike swallows hard, his thumb brushing over Will's cheek. "It means I've finally pulled my head out of my ass." He jokes and Will chuckles, burying his face into the nook of Mike's neck.
"I love you, so much," Mike whispers, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet aftermath of their confession. His thumb traces lazy circles on Will's skin as he speaks, his eyes searching Will's for any sign of doubt or regret. Will's eyes flutter shut at the touch, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.
"Say it again, please?" Will whispers, his voice hoarse from crying. He needs to hear it again, to know that this isn't just left over drugs in his system talking, that this isn't just a figment of his fucked up imagination.
Mike's thumb pauses in its gentle stroking, and for a moment, Will's heart stops. "I love you." The ravenette says, his voice softer than the dawn light filtering through the curtains.
Will's smile widens and he nods against Mike's neck, feeling the warmth of his breath and the steady beat of his heart. "I love you too," he murmurs into the crook of Mike's neck, his voice muffled but clear. Mike's heart flutters, the words echoing in his chest like a symphony. It's a feeling he's never quite experienced before, a mix of relief and terror and pure, unbridled joy. He squeezes Will tighter, his eyes closing as he tries to process the gravity of what's just happened
.::.
Skipping forward, the boys are curled up in Will's bed, the soft glow of the morning sun peeking through the blinds. Will is nestled in Mike's arms, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm of sleep. Mike's eyes are open, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. He runs his hand over Will's back, feeling the warmth of his skin, the reality of their newfound love, a comforting weight against his palm. He can't believe he's finally said it out loud, finally admitting the truth that's been burning in his chest like a secret brand.
In his mind, he replays the events of the night, the way Will's eyes searched his own for understanding, the desperation in his voice when he spoke of his relapse. Mike feels a pang of guilt for not being there, for not seeing the signs, for pushing him away. He knows he can't change the past, but he's determined to be there for Will from now on, to help him through the storm of his addiction and the aftermath of his father's cruelty. He'll stand by him, no matter what.
As Will's breathing evens out, Mike's thoughts drift to the future. The world outside their bubble seems so far away, so trivial in the face of the monumental shift that's taken place between them.
For now, he focuses on the warmth of Will's body against his, the gentle sounds of his breathing. He whispers a silent promise into the stillness of the room. "I'll keep you safe," he says, his voice barely a breath. "No matter what." He tightens his hold on Will, pulling him closer, as if he can shield him from the world with the power of his love alone. And in that moment, as the sun rises to greet a new day, Mike feels a flicker of hope, a spark that ignites a flame of determination. They'll face whatever comes next together.
He glances at the clock on Will's nightstand. Shit. It's almost noon. He carefully untangles himself from Will's embrace, not wanting to wake him. Will's eyes flutter open, a sleepy smile playing on his lips. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice rough from sleep.
Mike smiles back, unable to resist leaning down to press a soft kiss to Will's forehead. "Hey," he echoes, his voice thick with emotion. "You okay?"
Will nods, his eyes searching Mike's. "Yeah," he says, his voice a whisper. "More than okay."
Mike smiles, the tension in his shoulders easing. He reaches for Will's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Good."
Will's thumb brushes against Mike's knuckles, and the simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him. He tugs on Mike's hand, pulling him back towards the bed. "Come here," he whispers, his voice filled with a warmth that Mike's never heard before.
Mike allows himself to be pulled, his heart racing. He settles back into the bed, Will's hand still in his.
Max wasn't the only person upset with me.
Mike looked at Will with a sadness that made his stomach churn. "I can't watch you keep trying to fucking kill yourself, Will," he whispered, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"I know," Will said, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to do this. I'm sorry." The words tumbled out of him, a jagged confession of the guilt and pain that had been festering inside him.
Mike's expression softened, "Stop apologizing," he murmured, his thumb brushing against the brunette's knuckles.
So thats how I ended up here, Narcotics fucking Anonymous.
"Hi, I'm Will. I've been clean for 60 days."
Mike had cried in my arms that night, scared I'd fuck up so badly one night that I wouldn't be able to repair the damage.
So, I decided to stay clean, and I have been, for a while. But I've also been coming to this meeting for longer. I just didn't want to depress anyone. Plus, I really have been trying, and that counts for something.
“Two months ago, I woke up from a coma. I didn't know what happened, but from the looks of my mother, older brother and sister's faces, I knew that, whatever it was, whatever I did... It wasn't good. It scared them. It really scared them. And, uh, at that moment, I decided to at least try and change.'Cause I owe it to them. I owe it to everyone I love, and everyone who loves me. The hardest part, uh, has been... feeling like I owe it to myself. And, uh, maybe that'll get easier. I hope it will. Thank you.”
The room was silent for a moment before a smattering of applause broke out. Will felt a mix of emotions—relief, fear, hope, love—but mostly he felt seen. He looked up to see his boyfriend who he'd asked to come with him, sitting in the back of the room, his eyes red from crying. He gave him a small nod of encouragement, and Will felt his chest swell with pride.
When the meeting was finished, Will and Mike stepped out of the building into the crisp autumn air, feeling the bite of the wind against his cheeks as he walked down the street. The leaves crunched under his feet, a rhythmic sound that matched the beat of Will's heart.
"Hey, Will!"
He turned to see Henry, the older man jogging his way over to the two.
Mike's grip on Will's hand tightened almost imperceptibly, a subtle display of his discomfort with the situation. Henry's age was a stark contrast to the youth of the two teenagers.
"Oh, Henry, hi" Will said, managing a small smile.
Mike nodded politely, still uncomfortable with the situation. He has no idea who this guy is or how he knows Will, but, knowing his boyfriend, it probably wasn't under great circumstances.
"Glad to see you again, this time under better circumstances" Henry chuckles, his voice smooth and soft.
Will's smile is forced, his mind racing as he tries to piece together the puzzle that is Henry.
"How do you know Will?" Mike asks, his voice tight with protectiveness, not bothering to keep pleasantries in his greeting.
"Oh, we met a while ago," Henry says, his smile never wavering. "I drove him home one night after his friend left him on the side of the road." He challenges, eyes wide. "Real dangerous, being alone in the middle of the woods."
Mike's grip tightens on Will's hand, and Will can feel the anger simmering beneath his touch.
"You're the guy from that night?" Mike's voice is tight.
"The very same," Henry says with a nod. "
Will's heart skips a beat. "Oh, right. Uh, it's great to see you, Henry, but Mike and I actually have a lunch date with our friends."
Mike's eyes widen slightly at the mention of a lunch date, but he recovers quickly, squeezing Will's hand. "Yeah, we do," he says, his voice firm.
"Friends?" Henry asks, raising an eyebrow. "That's wonderful, Will. It's so important to surround yourself with good people."
"The best," Will says with a forced smile, his stomach knotting. He doesn't want to lie, but he doesn't want to get into it with Henry right now. "We've really gotta go, though."
"Of course, of course," Henry says, backing off a step. "I'm just happy to see you're doing better, Will." His eyes flick to Mike, and for a moment, Will wonders if he can see the truth in them. "You both look... happy."
Mike's jaw tightens, but he nods, his grip on Will's hand still firm. "Thanks," he says, his voice cool. "We've got to go now."
"See you around, Will," Henry says, his gaze lingering for a second too long before he turns and walks away.
As soon as he's out of earshot, Mike turns to Will. "What the fuck was that?" he hisses, his eyes flashing with anger. "What a creep."
Will strains a chuckle, "I don't disagree with you there."