[Once upon a time, in a time slightly in the future that Will doesn't know about, hasn't seen yet, he shuffles awkwardly around a dance floor with someone else's hands on his shoulders, forcing a grim smile and trying not to see Mike out of the corner of his eye, leaning in and kissing Eleven. Somewhere else, Lucas does the same thing with Max, and Will doesn't have to see it to know that the same thing is expected of him. He'll pull away, he'll make some excuse, wait for his friends to get bored with dancing so he can surround himself with them, forget about the taste of envy, metallic and bitter at the back of his throat.
He'll try not to think about how, when he closes his eyes, wishes he was the one being kissed, that he sees himself in Eleven, in Max's places. Mostly the former. It'll haunt him almost worse than the Mind Flayer does, every time he sees them pairing off, two by two.
It's a future Will doesn't know he has, but one he could easily guess at. It's the only one that's ever existed for him.
Except right now Eddie's kissing him. Right now Eddie's mouth is pressed to the corner of his own and Will wants to scream and Will wants to cry and Will wants to laugh, even if it kills him. It's one of those half-moments that should have music playing during them, something bright and swelling and triumphant. Violins and drums and brass and strings, building and building and exploding.
Instead it's silent, and Eddie is red-faced with his hands in his pockets and it's so much. Will can't say anything, can't do anything but reach out, grab for Eddie's hands, wanting to hold onto him for as long as possible.]
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He'll try not to think about how, when he closes his eyes, wishes he was the one being kissed, that he sees himself in Eleven, in Max's places. Mostly the former. It'll haunt him almost worse than the Mind Flayer does, every time he sees them pairing off, two by two.
It's a future Will doesn't know he has, but one he could easily guess at. It's the only one that's ever existed for him.
Except right now Eddie's kissing him. Right now Eddie's mouth is pressed to the corner of his own and Will wants to scream and Will wants to cry and Will wants to laugh, even if it kills him. It's one of those half-moments that should have music playing during them, something bright and swelling and triumphant. Violins and drums and brass and strings, building and building and exploding.
Instead it's silent, and Eddie is red-faced with his hands in his pockets and it's so much. Will can't say anything, can't do anything but reach out, grab for Eddie's hands, wanting to hold onto him for as long as possible.]