It’s the anniversary effect. He’s spent years really understanding the depths of this concept, and this summer, despite the anniversary being months away, he felt it. It hit him like that chill in the air, the rising bumps on the back of his neck, that skin crawling sensation that makes him want to scratch and scratch until it’s gone. He can’t, though, so he wraps himself in scarves and turtlenecks, hiding away this blight like a curtain blocking out the sun. It’s still there, poking through and always nipping at him as a reminder, but still he can pretend it isn’t.
Mike sees this, just like he always can, and starts plotting.
Will knows it because Mike always gets this look on his stupid face. A quick glance over the dining table, a bitten back smile, and a twitching eyebrow that says, ‘You’re in for it, Byers.’ Or maybe that’s his heart, because it really is in for it whenever Mike is in the room.
Will was in his room, twirling a pencil between his pointer finger and thumb, imagining Mike Wheeler’s face when he laughs—a crinkle on the sides of his eyes, his nose pinching, a wide smile, and a rosy tint in his cheeks—but was interrupted when said gorgeous face came barreling through the basement door with a bag of clay.
