dead loverboys + byler

word count: 3494

“So now I can’t kiss my girlfriend?”

“Why can I hear it, though?” Dustin makes a smacking sound with his lips. “This is what I’m hearing, listen. Lis-ten. Do you want to hear that? I don’t wanna hear that. Will doesn’t want to hear that.”

Why is he being dragged into this? Byers rotates his glass, it’s a sugary mix of fruit juice and vodka; and he thinks he might get a sugar high before he gets drunk. He’s been sipping, wiping his teeth with his tongue, as the others are getting a little sloppy. Max is drinking straight vodka, her words softening; while Dustin is slurping coffee like a madman because he wants to write a paper after. Tossing empty beer cans, Lucas and Mike have a garbage bag where they’re keeping score (Lucas: 6; Mike: 5 drunk, 0 in the bag).

Draped on Lucas’ lap, knee, whatever (she says knee, they all say lap), Max’s bouncing. Lucas’ jiggling his leg so she’s bumping a little and has to wrap one arm around his shoulder. She flings back her head, groaning, “Grow up, and leave Will out of it.”

“Yeah, Dustin,” Lucas slides his hand over Max’s on the table. Circles her knuckles with his thumb, slow, gentle. “Grow up.”

Dustin runs his hands through his hair, knocking back his baseball cap. “The hand thing! Mike, Will, someone, back me the hell up! C’mon. Mike,” he spins in his chair when he calls Mike and Will’s names, scrabbling for allies. “Mike, you hate love.”

Taking off his glasses, Mike wipes the lenses on his sweater, pokes them back behind his ears. Lucas and Max are already protesting. Mike says, “But the real question is, does the Mind-Flayer hate love? Dustin, are you rolling to seduce?” Wheeler cups a d20, shaking it in his caged palms; the finer strands of his hair wafting as he moves, echoing the motion. “Charisma check against the Mind-Flayer?”

“No! No, no.” Dustin crosses his arms. “I repeat: no, I do not seduce the Mind-Flayer.”

“Maybe the Mind-Flayer’d be into it,” Lucas shrugs; Max raises her eyebrows, trying obviously to hide an inside-joke smile, staring at a vacant spot at the table.

“I don’t mind the two of you being really in love,” Will says.

“Nooooooo!” Dustin cries. Points at Byers. “Betrayer!”

Will holds up his hand. “It’s just the goodbyes.” Circling his fingers like a wheel, “You know, the babe, baby, baby-darling, duckling, sweetheart, god I miss you so much.” He says all the terms of endearment as if he’s reading roll call.

“God I miss you so much,” Mike echoes, overlapping with Will. They both say it deadpan.

“Yes! Thank you.” Dustin claps his hands, leans back in his seat.

Will continues, “I’ll seduce the Mind-Flayer.”

“Ooooh,” Lucas squeals. Max leans in.

Byers scoots forward, elbows on the table. “Yeah, what’s his Charisma again?”

“High.” Mike shoots to the edge of his DM screen, shielding his notes with his body.

Sliding his hand across the table, thumbs the corner of the cardboard DM screen; Will pouts his lips a little. “Is there something I could do to lower the Difficulty?”

“What.” Lucas grips his head. “What is happening?”

“Will!” Max shrieks. Then covers her mouth. “Will,” she says, husky, lowering her chin. “William Byers.”

Dustin, interrupting, overlapping, “This isn’t what I meant. Less flirting. Less. Flirting.”

Will glares around the table. The Wheeler’s basement is chilly, he’s sitting next to one of the five space heaters they’ve hauled down the stairs. It’s a bring-your-own-space-heater kind of party. He’s wrapped the crochet blanket from the couch over his shoulders, and has been pretending it’s Will the Wise’s cape. Still, his feet are cold, and he shimmies them together, the fabric of his socks fwip-ing.

Will says, “That’s not flirting. I’m just asking the Dungeon Master if there’s something I can do to lower the Difficulty of the roll.” Makes eye contact with each of them, except Mike, trying to sell it. “You guys are freaks.”

“Just them,” Dustin says.

Max squints. Then pouts out her own lips, imitating Will. “I know what I saw.”

Byers takes Mike’s hand. It’s easy to grab, tapping on the tabletop near the edge of the DM screen, where he’s scraped his chair closer to Will to hide his notes. Slides Mike’s long fingers closer in an impersonation of Lucas with Max, rubs his thumb in an exaggeratedly slow circle around Mike’s first knuckle. Mike watches, everyone’s watching, he can feel their shock buzzing around him; but he’s only really looking at Wheeler.

Mike has the tiniest smile at the corner of his mouth.

And Byers tells himself it’s just payback for the long car ride where Mike talked for an hour before saying: shit, wait, how are you? And also, Lucas and Max have been a bit much. And also, he’s kind of been the butt of a few jokes of like: Will doesn’t like this, Will doesn’t flirt, don’t do that in front of Will. So it’s easy. And worse, it’s fun.

Will leaves his hand on Mike’s. Says, in a decent approximation of Sinclair saying goodbye his girlfriend, flicking his eyes down to their hands, then to Mike’s lips. “Hey baby-”

He doesn’t get any farther. Max and Dustin scream, fully scream. Lucas’ shouting: oh wow oh wow oh man. Max’s hands are covering her face. “We sound like that.” She’s reaching out weakly across the tabletop to Will, fumbling for his hand. “Oh god, we sound like that.”

Will takes her fingers, supporting her limp arm. Shakes them like a handshake. “Yeah, yeah, you do.”

While the table’s calming down, Mike stands, rolls a d20 in front of the screen. It jumps, hitting Will’s mini. Adjusting Will the Wise, Byers reapplies the sticky-tack on the clear plastic rod. The Sorcerer is flying, and Wheeler’s made a little stand for him to show he’s floating. “What’s the roll for?” Will asks.

Mike turns his head, the rest of his cable-knit-sweater clad body (god, he’s getting preppy) perfectly still. “The Charisma check. Your turn.”

Byers blinks, rubs his eyes, they’re a little teary from laughing. “Who is this, who am I rolling against? They got a three? Ok.” Jiggles the die. “I can beat a three.” He says it out loud, because it’s always good to give the dice encouragement: tell them that they really can beat a three. The dice will absolutely screw you if you’re not giving them constant praise. Kissing his knuckles once, Byers whispers to the plastic, “Wreck him.”

“Mind-Flayer. He has a +6 to Charisma.”

Releasing the die, it clatters across the diorama, little clusters of stone for the cave, sliced blobs of clear glue painted with blue tips to mimic crystals. Mike’s really outdone himself with the props; Will doesn’t know how he’s had the time, he’s just come home for winter break. Echoing the number on the die, “Ten, so thirteen. I pass. What am I passing?”

Mike slumps back, his little smile twitching up. “You pass, awesome. How do you seduce the Mind-Flayer?”

Oh, fuck.

Wheeler lets his smile grow, eyebrows denting down, tongue peeking between his lips. “What do you say to him?”

Cracking his knuckles for the table. Lucas whoops. Max says, “Pleeeease, Will, Will, not something I’ve said.”

“Uh.” Closes his eyes briefly. Turns, sharp to Lucas and Max. “So, one sec, do you both call each other ‘duckling’ or is it just one of you is ‘duckling’ and the other one is something else?” Scratches his nose. “Just want to make sure I have all the details before I start.”

“Will, you’re doing the lord’s work,” Dustin’s picked up his mini, and has been turning it to the warm overhead light. “Oh, he has a little hat. Thanks, Mike.”

“We’re both duckling,” Lucas says, voice flat and un-phased, hands on Max’s hips.

“You guys don’t have to share a single chair, is what I’m saying. There isn’t a poverty of chairs, Mike has chairs.” Dustin says it half to Nog the Dwarf, before replacing him on the board. “Oh shit, his little axe.” Holds it up, broken. “His axe broke off. Ok, I’m going to fix it. Glue? Mike, Mike, hey, pass the super glue?”

“What do you say to the Mind-Flayer?” Wheeler repeats. The party doesn’t hush; they don’t really ever fully hush, they’re not a hushing type of friend-group; but the way Mike looks at Will, they’re back in the game. Or, at least, Will has Mike’s attention if no one else’s.

He tries to say it with a straight face, the words coming together, perfect. Pressing his hand to his mouth, Byers exhales through his nose, then flings his hand back; he’s locked-in, back in character. “While you’ve been watching us, Mind-Flayer,” he says it deep in his chest: the Will the Wise voice, a little raspy, older and grizzled. Will the Wise has seen some shit. Repeats, “While you’ve been watching us with your Scrying, I’ve been watching you.” Sucking in his cheeks a little, licking his lips. “Thinking about you.”

Mike has a thing where he pulls up his hands like a t-rex. For some reason, most of his villains in D&D have little t-rex hands. “Oh?” he asks, frowning, sounding a little like Tim Curry or Miss Piggy. Brings his fingers up below his chin, waggling them. “The Mind-Flayer has tentacles. Face-tentacles,” he clarifies when Will stares.

“Cool.” Will rubs his nose again. “Ok. Ok. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Mmm-hmmm?” It’s definitely Miss Piggy.

“I’ve been thinking about what I want to do to those face-tentacles.” He’s really trying not to laugh, mouth open a bit, tongue pressed into the corner.

“Oh my god,” Max whispers.

Will reaches and pinches one of Mike’s wiggling fingers delicately. “Duckling-”

Lucas slaps the table. “God dammit.”

Dustin starts a slow clap.

“He’s not done,” Mike says in his regular voice. “This is so important. Please, please, guys; focus, are we playing D&D or aren’t we? Did I prep for five hours yesterday, or didn’t I? Did I almost fail my one mandatory science class, because I was painting these miniatures in my dorm room, or am I just bad at the solar system in general? What is Will the Wise going to do to the Mind-Flayer’s face-tentacles?” Chokes only once on the word ‘face.’

The party turns to Will. They have actually hushed, wow. Raises his eyebrows, because he can’t not, he can’t not. Byers says, “Will the Wise takes the closest of the Mind-Flayer’s many, thick tentacles; and he sucks him off.”

“Noooooo!” Lucas shouts. “But also yes, but also no.”

“I think that’s the session,” Mike’s laughing, mouth stretched wide, pulling at the muscles of his face; it’s the first time he’s seen him really laugh since he’s been home. The table has erupted into chaos.

Max finally slipping off her boyfriend’s lap, and stretching; Lucas saying: damn, damn. Dustin trying to glue Nog the Dwarf back together. Lucas, “I NEVER thought I’d hear that from you, Will.”

Max quipping, “And you thought you might hear it from someone else?” Her boyfriend gives her a look.

Dustin holding up his hand to shield his vision. “Get a room. That was the whole point of this session, get, a, room. I am not part of your eyes or whatever. Shit, why is Nog so sticky?”

“Our eyes, what the hell?” Max snatches the mini. “I’ll fix him.”

“No, no, no, Mike worked hard on that… mini, ok so now he’s headless.”

Mike’s folding down the DM screen.

“Sorry,” Will says.

“Why are you sorry?” Wheeler looks genuinely confused.

“I don’t know, too far? I mean, uh I guess you were talking like Miss Piggy, so I guess it’s your fault.”

Snorts, “Yeah, I know what she does to you. Exactly your type.” His slender fingers slow, packing the miniatures into their tackle box. It’s one of his dad’s old boxes, and it has stickers of unrecognizable tool brands on the outside. “Uh, I mean, I know you like guys.”

Will exhales sharp, half-laugh, half-surprise. Starting to help, staring at the details of a little goblin as he hands him over (red on his mouth, bloody fangs). “It’s only weird if you keep bringing it up. And,” he pauses, thinking. “You think,” hands Mike another mini, “The weirdest part of liking Miss Piggy is she’s a girl, not that she’s a muppet?” Picks up Mike’s beer can, and takes a swig. It’s better than the mixed drink.

“I forgot she’s a muppet.” Mike covers his mouth with his hand, laughs. Fumbles for the beer back.

Will snakes it out of reach. “This one’s mine now. What did you think she was?”

Making a grabby-motion, “I just forgot, I dunno, a person, a pig? I just DMed for you guys,” snatches at it, “Ungrateful! Un-gratitude.” Hand on Will’s shoulder, his fingers slipping off the can.

Dancing in a circle, Will chugs.

“No, no, thief!” Mike’s grinning. “Fine. I’ll go upstairs. Want anything?”

Dustin’s readjusting his baseball cap. “I’m out.” Opening his arms for a hug. “Good game, Wheeler.”

Lucas and Max begin to pack as well. They bundle, all jostling each other in the hallway upstairs, winter jackets, scarves, mitts. Sinclair picks up Max to spin her, knocking everyone just a bit in the entryway.

“Jesus!” Dustin says.

“Gotta up my game,” Lucas says, arms around Max’s thighs, under her ass, staring into her eyes. They’re smiling, tipsy and loopy.

“I’ve been on three bad dates, and I need this to stop, guys,” Henderson hefts his backpack. Fumbles for Max’s hand, “As a fellow child of divorce, I’m begging you, let me breathe, Mayfield.”

Dribbling back the last of Mike’s beer, “I can make them stop,” Will says, confident, the alcohol finally hitting in a warm rush. His friends love him.

Setting down his girlfriend, Lucas holds out his knuckles to Will for a bump. “Damn, the performance tonight.”

“I know,” Will scoffs.

“Ooooh,” Lucas’ eyes widen a little. “So, you’re saying you’re going to top it… this weekend?” Will’s gaze skitters to Mike. He’s rummaging under the sink, seemingly distracted. Lucas continues, voice a little lower, “Has Carlton been giving you a good time, you all loved up and confident?”

“Loved up?” Will stutters.

“Yeah, I’m out,” Dustin bangs open the door. Shooting back finger guns. “Weekend. Bye, losers.”

“Losers?” Max echoes, face souring.

Lucas mirrors her expression: “Rude. He’s rude. Oh shit, I didn’t mean to mention the C-man, Mike, sorry, Mike.”

Mike’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand. “What the hell? Just go next door, you don’t need all your winter stuff.”

Will hasn’t realized how drunk Sinclair is. But here, in the harsher light of the kitchen, he’s stumbling tugging up his winter boots. “Mike haaaaates Carlton,” Sinclair hisses.

“Leave! Lucas, leave,” Mike is shouting, pushing him, semi-serious. “Ass.” The bottle of wine clunks against the front door as he shuts it. Turns his back and slumps against the wood. “I’m going to kill our friends. If there’s a missing person investigation, it’s me, I did it, take me in officer. You like white wine? My dad says it tastes like pee.” He swallows, and hiccups.

“Oh, you’re drunk-drunk.”

“Nah.” Lifts the bottle, forefinger extended to point at Will. “And I haven’t heard anything, you haven’t told me anything about Carlton.” Walks, a little slanted to the cupboards. Slamming, searching for glasses.

“Top left,” Will says. “This is your house.”

“Yeahhhh.” Clicks two wine glasses on the counter. “My mom moves them when she doesn’t want us to know how much she’s drinking. So does Nance.”

“She moves the glasses?”

“I didn’t say it made sense.” Pours a sloshing helping, dribbles it along the counter and pours another. “So I keep looking in the old places.” His eyes flick up, sudden. “Do you ever find things are going missing?”

“No, no?”

Lifting the glass, red liquid black in the fluorescents. Wheeler says, “All those kids, when we were younger. Billy? It was so weird, right?”

“I don’t- like to talk about it.” Will hugs himself. “Are we sleeping in your room?”

Hefting the wine bottle, “If you think I can pour this without spilling on the carpet, yes.” Will eases it from Mike, feels his eyes on him. Mike continues, “Tell me about Carlton,” he says, softer. “I don’t know anything.”

“Uhhhh,” padding up the stairs. “Nothing to say, he’s great.” And fictional. Will made him up. Which might have been a big oops, but it’s done, and Carlton has been useful. Maybe even better than a real boyfriend (who’s he kidding, he’s so horny, keeps wondering if he should risk cruising). But without any relief, well, he’s getting good at imagining; starting to believe imagining is as good as the real thing: definitely safer, less embarrassing, less exposing.

Then they’re in Mike’s bedroom, kind of stuffy; Mike never opens the windows, even in summer and it smoulders. In winter, it’s a cozy kind of stuffiness, the sound of the furnace through the vents. Bending, Will looks for the extra mattress that used to be under the bed-frame. “Ok, well one thing has gone missing.” Standing, the bottom of the wine bottle pressed into his thigh. “Where’s the mattress, are we sharing the bed?” He laughs.

“Shit,” hand through his hair, messing up his side-part until it’s more of a poof. “Sorry. Ahhh,” he groans. “It got bad.”

“It, got bad?”

“Mold? Moths? It got bad.”

Flopping on the edge of the covers, “Which was it, Mike, mold or moths? I need to know what to prepare for tonight: giant bugs, killer spores?”

Sitting, then curling backwards as if he’s falling very, very slowly, Mike starfishes onto the coverlet. “I fixed it, no giant bugs. It’s good now. But the mattress, no good.”

Will settles the bottle on the ground, makes sure it’s steady on the carpet before removing his hand. Pressing his thumb into his palm. “Are you, like, actually bothered by Lucas and Max’s stuff? Or is that just a Dustin thing?”

Mike rubs the back of his head into the covers, scuffing it back and forth and messing his hair; staring at the ceiling, thinking. “I don’t think I give a shit. But, actually, I have no idea what I’m going to do with the next session, and it’s pretty soon.”

“Oh, I can help, I’m not doing anything this break, really,” Will says, and he’s missed that Mike is saying it more slowly than usual, more pronounced: setting up for a joke.

Wheeler lifts his chin just a bit, watching Will’s reaction. “Like, are we going to start with the tentacles in your mouth?” His lips spread into a sharp smile.

“Oh, come on!” Scrambles for a pillow to thwack into his friend’s face. Mike is faster, anticipating, and has thrown one, and then two pillows off the bed in quick succession. They hit the wall, Will’s fumbling after them and Mike’s caught his hands. Laced his fingers through Will’s, lips red from the wine.

“You always go for the pillows,” Mike pants.

Will’s gotten very good at imagining; he imagines taking Mike’s fingers to his mouth, sucking them one at time. Wonders what they would taste like, beer? Paint from the miniatures, skin, him, just him? What does that taste like?

Mike’s watching, catching his breath, “What’re you thinking?”

“Oh.” Untangles his hands, wipes on his shirt. “Stupid stuff.”

“I’m still thinking of Max calling Lucas ‘baby-darling.’ Pick one, you know? Baby’s enough, darling’s enough. Maybe I am with Dustin on this.” Shaking his head. “What would you use? What do you and Carlton say?” He says ‘Carlton’ with a hard burst of air around the ‘C.’ He’s slumped back on his heels, kneeling on the bed.

“Uh, baby.”

“Really?” Raising his dark eyebrows. “No, sorry, I’m being,” he waves his hand, fanning himself. “I’m being drunk.” Lies, then tucks his knees up, so he’s a little ball, rolls towards the side of the bed. Will watches, not sure if he should say something; but Mike’s rolled half-off the edge of the bed, doesn’t completely fall, unfurls lanky arms and legs, and bounds up; tilts towards the wine bottle.

“I have a proposition,” Mike says.

“Good. I’m sure it’s going to be good.”

“You doubt me,” spilling the wine on the carpet. “Shit. Shit.”

Will rubs the bit of skin between his fingers, where they were pressed into Mike. “I’ll get a cloth.”

“No, no, it’s my mess. I’ll get a cloth. You: think how we’re going to outdo Lucas and Max, super respectfully outdo, super out-talk them, out-dirty them, but not in a weird way, a funny and cool way.”

“Wow.”