𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝚈 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙳? ⇢ ʙʏʟᴇʀ

seven

Will was astonished, as the Byers' family car drifted into the half empty school parking lot, by the rather well numbered turnout of students. He had imagined that it was going to be busy, sure, it was a school dance after all. There was seldom a time when school was anything but work, work and more work. So of course Will knew there would be people there. He just hadn't really expected what felt like the whole school to be there.

From outside the gym, Will could see just enough of the interior through the first set of open double doors that his heart began to pound in his chest. The lights streamed outwards and illuminated a tiny fraction of the ground in front of the entrance like a welcoming beacon, and Will instinctually reached upwards, thin fingers clutching at the front of his blazer. He'd been glad, and yet simultaneously begrudged, that he hadn't really grown much since the last time he'd attended the Snow Ball.

His mother had, with only brief intervals of motherly questioning, helped him dig through into the back of his closet to pick out a nice dress shirt and the dark green blazer he'd ended up wearing to the dance. Dress pants weren't hard, and he didn't have much choice around the single pair that he owned. Overall, though he couldn't help but stifle the nervous, self conscious feeling in his stomach, Will felt like he had cleaned up pretty nice.

Yet now, he felt afraid. As he stared numbly towards the doors, Will felt a warm hand on his left forearm.

"You alright, honey?"

Peeling his eyes away from the sight of the school, Will glanced over towards his mother, assessing the compassionate look on her face. He knew she'd been confused when he had suddenly rushed back into the house and told her, on a whim, that he needed to go to the dance because, well, he just needed to. She'd been lenient with him then, of course, but didn't he owe her some sort of explanation, at least? He owed her that. He just didn't know if he could give that to her.

"Yeah, I'm alright."

"Is your special someone here?" Joyce asked in a way that only mothers can, and Will felt the tips of his ears growing flush in embarrassment.

"W-What do you me—"

"Jonathan told me," Joyce assured her son, giving his arm a soft pat as she drew her hand back, a curious smile crossing her face as she watched her boy. Will felt his nerves growing taut, and though he knew and Joyce knew well of his stance on these sort of things, he still felt like he was coming clean in admitting it.

"So? Is he?" Joyce poked, her voice patient as she eyed him.

He, Will thought.

"Yeah," Will whispered, eyes dropping towards the passenger's seat floor, "he is."

He, Will thought. That feels good. He. 'He' isn't pretending. He. A boy. The boy.

"You'll be fine, sweetheart, I know it," Joyce cooed as she glanced past Will and towards the bright light gleaming through the front school doors. Will stared down into his hands quietly for a moment, swallowing back whatever had been preventing him from getting out of the car, then turned back to look at his mother.

"Thanks, Mom," Will whispered slowly, and he didn't need to clarify just what he was thankful for. There wasn't much that he wasn't thankful for.

Giving Will one last nod of encouragement, Joyce beamed at her youngest pride and joy.

"You go get 'em, kiddo," she said softly, and as Will climbed out of the car, she wondered if she could ever be any prouder of her son than she felt in that moment.