fight or flight (i'd rather die than tell you i'm in love with you)

chapter one- Iris by the googoo dolls

Will was an ordinary kid. He was shy, he liked art and playing dungeons and dragons and he liked his eggs with a bit of maple syrup.
He loved listening to music. When he was little, he listened to what Jonathan gave him, but nowadays he was really starting to explore his own taste. He liked Cavetown and Ricky Montgomery and Conan Gray.

He likes drawing the people he cared for. He adores watching sunsets on those late summer evenings. He likes to crack the spine of a fresh comic. He likes to pretend that he was far away from his current life, sometimes. He likes to imagine, just for a moment, that he hasn't never lived through any of the horrible things he's lived through. He likes to close his eyes and think he's on an adventure, far away from everything. Far, far away.

His favorite subject in school was undoubtedly science, thanks to the legendary Mr Clarke he used to have in middle school. Will considered his life to be pretty dull and boring: the only thing he really ever did was draw, or occasionally play dungeons and dragons with his friends.

Will was generally a shy boy, and obviously he isn't very well-liked or popular at school. Sometimes Will thinks he might be invisible. Like he doesn't exist in this life, like he might just be a figment of his own imagination. Like he's a secondary character in his own life.

The only time Will feels genuinely cared for, is when he's with his friends.

Lucas. Dustin. Max. El.

And Mike.

Mike. Will would never admit it in a billion years, but he liked Mike a bit more than any of his other friends. He liked Mike in ways that he couldn't quite put into words. He couldn't even translate this weird feeling in his chest into lines and colors, which is even more rare for him.

He pretended he didn't like Mike more. He pretended that he didn't have butterflies in his stomach every time Mike's hand softly grazed his when they both reached for the maple syrup. He pretended his sketchbooks weren't filled with Mike's face to the absolute brim. He pretended he didn't blush whenever Mike caught him staring at him.

He pretended he didn't like Mike a bit more than a boy should like another boy.

If Will were absolutely honest, he would like for Mike to look at him the way he looks at Eleven. He wanted Mike to hold his hand. He wanted Mike to look at him like he was the sun. He wanted Mike to love him the way he loved Mike.

Will didn't tell anyone any of this, obviously. Sometimes, late at night when he couldn't sleep, he'd stare at his ceiling and wonder how that conversation he's been dying to have since he was twelve may go.

But he has long given up on ever actually having that conversation. He has long given up on Mike returning his feelings. On Mike ever loving him the way he loves him.

So, Will resorts to doing what he has been doing since he could take his first steps: he runs away. He runs away from the scary butterflies, he tries his best to blend in with the wallpaper, he tries his best to act as if nothing is wrong. And maybe, along the way, he has forgotten to act or feel like anything at all.

-

'And for the final assignment before the weekend, I want you all to write me an essay on a topic from the list I handed out to you Monday. Three pages people!', Ms. Garcia said.

Will sighed as he picked up his red backpack and put his pencil case inside. He didn't feel like writing a whole essay. He didn't feel like doing much, if he was honest.

'Pssh, Byers, should we do it together?'

Will didn't even have to look up to know who it was. The tiny ignition of fireworks underneath his skin where Mike currently has his hand on his arm speaks for itself.