Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

FALL, 1986

Michelle stares at herself in her mirror, adjusting her outfit. It’s the first day of sophomore year. She had spent all morning trying to figure out what to wear, and clothes pool in piles in the corner of her room. She couldn’t be bothered to pick them back up. She eventually decided on a navy blue pleated skirt, a white blouse and dark brown loafers. It didn’t really suit her, but nothing ever really suited her. Good enough.

She glances at her watch, biting her lip. Fifteen minutes until she had to leave. In all truth, Michelle hates school. She wasn’t particularly smart, or sporty, or talented. Her friends are popular, so she supposes she was popular by association, but sometimes it felt like she just blended into the background. She hates this town. Sometimes she could swear she was counting down the minutes until she could leave. A muffled sound echoes behind her, and Michelle turns around. Her sister Nancy stands in the doorway.

‘Hey, Shells. Time to go.’ Nancy dangles her car keys in her hand.

‘Coming.’ Michelle mumbles. Her head aches, and she felt a bit sick. She always felt this way on the first day of school. As if she had anything to be nervous about. ‘Michelle?’ Nancy sounds annoyed, but her eyes soften a bit when she sees the look on her sister’s face. ‘Everything okay?’

Michelle nods. ‘Yeah.’ She wonders what Nancy would say if she said no. She shakes that thought from her mind. She was fine. She was fine. ‘I feel like I look stupid.’ She sits down on her bed, her blankets and sheets all messy and tangled. She was a light sleeper, to understate it.

‘I think you look pretty cool, actually.’ Michelle glances up at her sister, her eyebrows creasing. ‘You look like yourself. Not like Katie or Steph or Dina.’ Nancy seems genuine. She wasn’t really the kind of person to joke about that, but Michelle finds it hard to believe her sister actually likes how she was dressed for once. ‘Listen, I think you look pretty. But if you’re really worried about it, you can borrow my cardigan.’ Michelle’s face flushes, heat gathering on her skin. She hates when that happens, and it happens all the fucking time.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, it’s in my room. But be quick, cause we gotta go!’ Nancy calls as her sister runs down the hall.

‘Thanks, Nance!’

───────────────

Nancy stops her car in Hawkins High’s carpark. Michelle’s stomach feels a little lighter when she realises they aren’t late, and students are still pouring into the school.

‘I’ll pick you up at four, okay? I’ve got a bio test that’s gonna run a little late.’ Michelle nods, and begins to walk towards the school’s entrance. Just gotta make it through the day.

Michelle makes her way inside Hawkins High, passing familiar faces. Her head aches from the fluorescent lights and all the chatter. Barely anyone new ever moved to this town. The last person to move was Max Mayfield. Max was different to her other friends. Meaning, Michelle actually liked her. But Max stopped talking to Michelle after her brother died the previous year. Sometimes she feels a bit guilty, for disliking her friends, but to be fair she doesn’t really like anyone. Michelle needs to get to class. Her school bag weighs on her back. As she walks further down the hall, she finally spots her group, and a wave of relief spreads through her body. Dina Thompson waves her over, grinning. Michelle smiles back and walks over to them. Sometimes she wonders why she’s friends with them. They aren’t really anything like her. She isn't really anything like them, either.

Michelle begins to zone out, subconsciously nodding along to her friends’ conversations. Her vision grows blurry and her head starts to throb, so she looks around to take her mind off it. According to the clock on the wall, homeroom is in 6 minutes.

Her breath hitches and lingers in her throat.

Who the hell is that?

Michelle’s friends are still chatting away, talking about boyfriends and parties and whatnot, but she isn’t paying attention. A girl stands at the end of the hallway, and for once it was a face Michelle doesn’t recognize. She has soft eyes and light brown shoulder-length waves that frame her face, and she’s staring at the school noticeboard. Michelle’s ribcage tightens around heart, and the deep pain rises in her stomach again.

‘Guys? Who’s that?’ she asks, not tearing her eyes away from the girl. She feels the blood rising to her skin again.

‘Oh my God. Who is that?’ Dina giggles. ‘What is she wearing?’

Michelle’s brows crease. She doesn’t think there’s anything to say about what she’s wearing.

(To Michelle, that’s the least interesting thing about her.)

She’s never seen anyone like her before. The girl’s face is littered with chocolatey coloured moles, and her skin is warm and smooth. Michelle looks down at her shoes when she realises how much she was overanalysing her appearance. She supposes she was just a bit shocked. She hasn’t seen anyone new at this school in ages. It’s a small town - she thought she knew everyone.

‘Maybe she’s like, an exchange student, or something?’ She asks.

‘She looks like a dyke.’ Katie whispers, which is met with laughter from some of the other girls.

Michelle shifts on her feet, her head spinning and her shoulders hunched. She nudges Katie on the shoulder. ‘Don’t say that, Kate.’ She mutters.

‘Well she’s not wrong, is she?’ Jenna laughs, and Michelle’s jaw clenches.

Screw it.

She walks over to the girl.

‘Michelle, what the fuck?’ one of her friends says, incredulously, but she isn’t listening, and their disbelief blends back into the rest of the buzz of the school.

‘Hi.’ Michelle blurts out. She feels that fluttering ache in her stomach again, but for some reason this time it’s different. She holds her breath as the girl turns her head and looks up at her. Now that she’s closer to her, Michelle notices her eyes are honey-brown and bordered by soft brown lashes. Why does she even give a shit about her eyes?

‘Hi?’ The girl looks confused that Michelle is speaking to her. She twists her mouth and blinks.

(Fluttering, Flushing)

‘I’m Michelle.’ she says, realising she hadn’t really thought this through. An awkward silence hangs between the two, swirling and suffocating. Michelle can practically feel her friends’ eyes boring into her.

‘Willow.’ The girl responds. She looks down at her shoes.

Michelle opens her mouth to say something —

The school bell rings, signalling the start of the school day.

───────────────

Michelle often gets the need to write. Under her bedside table lies a small collection of notebooks, diaries and journals, accompanied by a few pens. She doesn’t write to publish, or show anyone, just to relieve her urge to get her thoughts out of her head for once. Her eyes flick over the destruction her early-morning freak out created in her room and she bites at her lip when she realises she’ll probably have to clean it up again.

She tries not to think about it, and her eyes light up when she has an idea.

The park is lit by the dimming sun and soft light radiated from underfunded streetlamps.

Although Michelle is still a few hundred metres away from it on her bike, she can see the outline of the trees silhouetted by the sun. Her watch says it’s half past five. She's surprised it’s still bright out – although it’s fall, Hawkins has a habit of getting so dark you felt like the shadows could swallow you. Michelle picks a bench by the edge of the park, which is surrounded by an arc of oak trees to calm her mind. She sits down and leans back on the bench, opening her most recent notebook, which is half-full and plastered in stickers. She brought a thin black-ink pen with her, and she just started to write. The cool air blows softly over her skin. There was only a light breeze in the air.

The words flow out of her, writing about everything and nothing. She finds herself repeatedly coming back to Willow, describing her, her mannerisms, and everything that Michelle had noticed about her. She regularly rereads what she has written, crossing out and replacing words. Her heart speeds up a bit when she realises she’s writing so much about her.

She checks her watch again, and she swallows the lump in her throat when she sees it’s almost eight pm. She looks up at the sky, only noticing now how dark it has gotten, and how many stars are sprinkled across it, like splatters of white paint spread over a navy canvas.

She starts on her bike again, the air blowing over her arms and through her hair, her curls swirling into the evening. The streets of Hawkins were dead and empty, save for a few owls resting in the crooks of the trees and the edges of the houses. Her mind wanders back to Willow like a compass needle pointing north. Why was she thinking about her so much? It’s not like she even knew her. She met her today and spoke to her for about four seconds.

Maybe she was just curious, fascinated by the thought of meeting someone new for once.

Maybe she was jealous.

Maybe—

The front tire of her bike rolls over a dip in the pavement, sending Michelle (who is still very much lost in thought) flying into the ditch in between the sidewalk and the forest.

‘Shit, you okay?’ A voice asks. Michelle rubs her eyes and looks up at the passerby.

Holy shit.

Standing in front of her is the girl she has spent her whole day obsessing over.

Willow stands on the sidewalk, her hair swaying in the breeze.

‘You again.’ Michelle breathes, so low she can hardly hear it. She turns a bright shade of pinkish-red when she realises she was still in the same position she had landed in when she flew off her bike, splayed out in the dirt. She quickly sits up, swiping clumps of grass off her bare legs.

Shit, she was cold. She looked back up at Willow. For a second, she thinks she sees her eyes linger on the pale skin of her thighs, but she assures herself she’s imagining it.

‘I’m a fucking mess.’ she coughs out, laughing despite herself. A flash of a grin flicks across Willow’s face, just long enough for Michelle to notice soft dimples on her cheeks. Willow holds out her hand, helping Michelle pull herself up out of the ditch. Michelle tries not to notice when their fingers brush over each others’.

Now fully standing, she realises how much taller than Willow she is. For a moment, their faces are only a few breaths apart. Something lingers in the air with them. A flash of something crosses Michelle’s mind, making her turn bright red again. She steps backwards and dismisses it, trying not to look at Willow.

‘You’re new to Hawkins, huh?’ she forces out, trying to redirect her train of thought. Willow nods.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I moved here a few weeks ago, into that old house down off Mirkwood.’

‘I know the one.’ Michelle smiles. ‘So, how are you liking Hawkins so far? It’s fucking boring, I know, you don’t have to sugarcoat it.’

Willow laughs, her face warm in the moonlight. How someone can look warm in the moonlight, Michelle doesn’t know, but Willow manages it anyway. ‘It’s.. okay.’ she responds. ‘Very different.’

‘Where were you before?’ Michelle asks. For a second she wonders if she’s being too nosey.

‘California. In Lenora, actually.’

‘I’m sorry, you moved from California to here? Hawkins, of all places?’ Michelle laughs, picking up her bike.

‘My mom grew up here,’ Willow explains. ‘My dad left a while ago, and mom thought we’d be better off here.’

There is a silence.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. He was an asshole.’ Willow scoffs, looking down at the floor. Michelle notices a tiny white scar on her eyebrow, a tiny river on her smooth skin. The air is damp and it hangs between them.

‘I actually live pretty close to Mirkwood, you know. We can walk back together, if you like? I’m pretty sure my bike’s busted.’ They both smile, and for a second their eyes lock onto each other's. Michelle quickly looks away.

What the fuck am I doing?

They start walking down the footpath again.

‘So, what classes are you taking this semester?’

───────────────

After clipped goodbyes

(longing, yearning, some kind of ache)

outside Willow’s house, Michelle finishes the last leg of her journey back home on her own, wheeling her bike next to her.

When she gets home, her legs ache. Something else inside of her does, too.

She quietly shuts her house’s front door behind her.

‘Where have you been?’ Michelle spins around to see her mother standing by the stairs, her arms crossed. ‘Jesus Christ, Mom, you scared me.’ Karen Wheeler raises her eyebrows.

‘The park. Just the park.’ She forces a smile.

‘It’s almost nine, Michelle. Just let me know next time, would you?’

Michelle nods, although her head is somewhere else.

Chapter Text

3 WEEKS LATER 

Michelle almost doesn’t notice that her calendar's wrong.

It’s the third weekend of her sophomore year, and all the usual Saturday things come and go. Holly playing loudly in the kitchen, ranting to her Mom about the newest episode of My Little Pony. Autumn rays and morning frost on the window as she woke up. 

Michelle wouldn’t say she was an early bird, but she did have a habit of being awake long after her house grew silent and long before the sun rose again. She couldn’t fall back asleep, so she chose to spend the early hours of the morning listening to Bowie and staring at the ceiling, spread out on her bed like she was a snow angel.

She keeps a calendar on her wall 7 days a week, 365 days a year. 

She isn’t exactly organized.

Michelle looks up at it again, then grabs a pen and crosses out Jenna’s Party on the 30th and quickly scribbles jens party  on the 23rd. Of course I got the date wrong.

(Why am I so distracted lately?)

She doesn’t really give a shit about Jenna’s party, though.

Although she’s tired, 

(exhausted, the air was heavy and her breath was heavy—)

Michelle’s heart can’t stop racing. She’s counting down the minutes until 1pm — until she leaves to meet Willow at the junkyard. Her and Willow have been hanging out a lot lately, actually. 

Michelle likes her—

( Loves her )

Her thoughts start to prick into her heart, like thousands of tiny little spears, just like they always do. Breathe.

It’s suffocating.

There’s a silence in her room, one that branches and deepens and swirls inside of her.

Fucking faggot .

She starts to cry a little bit. Like she always does. 

Not sobbing, not hyperventilating, just warm rivers of tears slipping down her face.

She flicks on her walkman and tugs on her headphones, tears still falling, sitting down on her bed.

Breathe.

Music fills her ears and she stares, her eyes rigid, flicking around her room.

Her eyes wash over framed photos of her and Max, her and Nancy and Holly; that tin Science Fair trophy she won years ago; the top shelf of her open closet, which was filled with cheap old plastic dinosaurs she used to play with as a kid.

Breathe.

They finally linger on the wall opposite her bed, where a simple wooden cross hangs, looming and huge and towering even though it’s shorter than her forearm.

That’s when her throat cracks and she starts sobbing.

───────────────

Michelle wishes she could drive.

Nancy sits in the front seat, her hands on the steering wheel. They don’t talk.

The old station wagon trundles over rocks and loose bits of black tar from the road, the ride bumpy and rough. The sun is hot, shining through the window and onto Michelle’s face. She tries to take her mind off everything (to take her mind off Willow) by staring at herself in the side mirror of the car. She scruffs around with her curly black mess of hair, which now reaches her collarbone, running her hands through it and adjusting it.

She should’ve straightened it before she left — it’s just as knotty as usual.

When she gets to the junkyard, she spots Willow by the railway tracks. A tall boy is standing next to her — the spitting image of Willow.

She did mention a twin brother the last time they hung out. But Michelle supposed she didn’t expect him to be so —

For her to be so, well, 

Not attracted to him.

When she heard about her twin brother, Michelle had felt a bit lighter.

She just thought Willow was pretty. 

She wasn't in love with her.

(Was she?)

Her brother, on the other hand —

Well, he was a guy.

Willow wasn’t.

She had spent the past few weeks telling herself that, over and over.

So why didn’t she feel the same thing for him?

Michelle learnt about this kind of

love / sin / something else?

ages ago. She was twelve and her parents were talking at the kitchen bench, her father half occupied by the daily paper.

‘...mislead. I don’t want that queer around our Nancy.’ Her mother had whispered that word, queer .

Her father had grunted in response.

‘The Lord’ll pay him back for his sins one day.’ He had said. ‘Lust never—’

‘Michelle!’ Willow calls over. Michelle is suddenly ripped out of her train of thought and plonked back into reality, back into Earth, into Autumn, into Hawkins, and the girl and her brother are standing in front of her, closer than she was expecting.

The boy hangs back a little bit.

‘You made it.’ Willow says. There is a feeling that lingers in the air, both of them looking at each other. Michelle notices Willow smells like vanilla and cinnamon.

Michelle swallows.

‘Uh— yeah.’ She forces out, her mind still clearing.

‘This is Elliot.’ Willow smiles, gesturing at her brother. ‘He’s not staying, though, he just dropped me off.’

Elliot smiles that same smile that Willow does, dimples and all.

Somehow, it doesn’t warm Michelle’s heart like Willow’s.

She blinks when she realises Elliot has been holding out his hand for a while. Michelle tentatively shakes it, forcing a smile. She notices his hands aren’t as soft as Willow’s were that first day they met.

Why do I even give a shit?

‘Uh, Michelle, is it?’ He says.

‘Yeah. Shelley for short, but no one really calls me that.’ She smiles, trying not to let her eyes wander back to Willow again. She remembers what her father used to say to her —

Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Michelle.

‘I’m surprised you didn’t ride your bike here.’ Willow chuckles. ‘You scared you’re gonna fall off again?’

Michelle laughs: she’s noticed that when she’s around Willow, she seems to laugh harder than she has in a long time.

There’s just something about her.

───────────────

‘No way.’

‘Last year. Live in Seattle. Jonathan took me and Elliot.’

‘Are you kidding? You’ve seen Queen live?’ Michelle scoffs in disbelief. She drags her hands down her face and groans. ‘God, I wish I didn’t live in this fucking town. Nothing ever happens here.’

‘You happened here.’ Willow murmurs, making Michelle laugh.

They sit on the train tracks in the junkyard, opposite each other. The sun is still warm in the fall afternoon. Michelle is wearing a pale cream dress, and she’s just beginning to be grateful she brought her hoodie.

‘Right, like I’m not just as boring as the rest of Hawkins.’

‘You’re not. You’re — different, I guess.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Michelle says, unsure whether it’s a compliment.

‘It— doesn’t matter.’ Willow mumbles.

She breaks their gaze and looks down at her shoes, at her old, scuffed Converse.

There is a very loud silence.

Willow finally breaks it.

‘Do.. do you wanna see something?’ she asks, averting her eyes, looking almost embarrassed.

‘See what?’

Willow reaches into the pocket of her corduroy jacket and pulls out a small leatherbound sketchbook. Michelle cranes her neck to see what it is. She flicks through the pages, which are slightly yellowed and weathered. Michelle wonders whether Willow draws outside.

(pages flicking, flashes of sketches of landscapes and people and —)

Michelle squints her eyes, and it takes a while for it to register in her head what it is.

It’s a drawing of her.

Michelle’s throat tightens. 

Maybe she’s going crazy.

Willow had gotten her jawline and freckles and even her curly black mess of hair perfectly copied on the page in light sketchings of lead.

Michelle doesn’t really know what to say.

‘Sorry,’ Willow mutters, quickly closing the sketchbook. ‘It’s weird, I know—’

‘It’s not weird.’ Michelle smiles. She leans forward again to take the sketchbook and look at the drawing again. She tries not to notice how close they are and how she feels when Willow’s thumb brushes over her hand to pass her the sketchbook. She fails, and her face flushes again.

She gazes at the drawing for as long as she can before it grows awkward.

‘Willow.. It’s— it’s really, really good.’ She says, still admiring it.

Willow smiles in the corner of her mouth, her dimples appearing, still looking embarrassed, her face flushed. The light of the sun glows on her face.

‘I thought — I don’t know, there’s just something about you.’ She says, gazing into Michelle’s eyes, and Michelle stares back, back into the seas of green that encompass Willow’s irises.

‘Can…Can I try?’ Michelle asks, suddenly. Willow nods, a bit confused, although still smiling. She hands her the pencil. In the corner of the page, Michelle tries her hardest to draw a tiny Willow, although art’s never been her strong suit. She takes her time, doting on each detail and sketching furiously. Willow leans over Michelle’s shoulder, trying to see, but she quickly hunches over to hide the drawing.

‘Not yet.’ She says, smiling.

Willow starts to laugh.

A while goes by, and although there is silence it isn’t as suffocating and awkward as it sometimes is. It’s more peaceful — only interrupted by afternoon birds and the sounds of pencil on paper. Willow is now lying down on the train tracks, spread out and eyes closed, soaking up the sun. Michelle finally decides she’s done after she adds the final detail — the tiny little scar that runs through Willow’s left eyebrow. 

‘I’m finished.’ she says, rather proudly.

Willow sits up, brushing her light brown waves out of her face. 

‘Let’s see it, then.’

Michelle sheepishly holds out the sketchbook, blushing and blinking.

‘Is that.. me?’ Willow coughs out. ‘It’s…nice…’ She stifles a laugh.

‘Don’t laugh!’ Michelle giggles. ‘I tried my best, man. It’s not my fault you’re basically Picasso.’

‘No, it’s, it’s good, it’s, uh..’ Willow can’t seem to stop herself from laughing again, tilting her head to look at the very lopsided drawing of her face.

Michelle laughs too, lightly pushing Willow on the shoulder. ‘Shut up!’

They look at each other and can’t help themselves from cracking up again.

Something in Michelle’s brain lights up, a wisp of a thought about something or nothing or potentially everything.

About what could be.

There’s a low rumble that shakes under them; they’re still staring into each other’s eyes, and it takes them a while to realise what’s happening.

‘The train’s coming.’ Michelle says, coughing. The two stand up, looking further down the tracks to the origin of the sound.

The edge of the train appears on the tracks when it turns a corner, the horn blaring.

Michelle grabs Willow’s wrist, pulling her off the tracks and into the edge of the forest.

‘ Holy shit! ’ She yells.

The train blows past them, swirling up dust. The two stand by the tracks, watching it disappear around the next bend.

‘That was —’ Willow begins, but the word close disappears off her lips as Michelle surges forward, pressing her mouth against hers. There’s a sort of explosion inside of Michelle as she kisses her, like fireworks and earthquakes, flowers blooming and thunder cracking. 

Willow’s lips are soft and warm, and they taste like caramel, and Michelle wishes she could just melt into them. Their mouths stay pressed on each other’s for seconds or minutes, their eyes closed like they’re both asleep and dreaming of what could be—

(If this is forbidden — if this is a sin —

Why did it feel right ?)

Then she realises what she’s doing.

Michelle quickly jumps back, as if she was electrocuted.

‘Fuck. Fuck . I’m so sorry. Shit , I shouldn’t have done that.’ She blurts out.

Willow just stands there, her face unreadable.

‘I’m— I’ll go.’ Michelle stutters, her face hot and her throat tight.

‘Wait, Michelle!’ Willow calls out, but she’s already started off down the path, her legs moving faster and faster, her curls flowing out into the wind and the sun slowly dissipating over the tree line.

What the fuck have I done?