Timothee Chalamet By Mark Williams And Sara Hirakawa, 2017

After the mall protest, Cole had been laying low. Partially because he had deliberately lied to the cops, partially because his mom made it very clear that he was on thin fucking ice after wrecking the car. When Max offered up her house for the night, he accepted without question. It was more low-key than their usual late-night rendezvous at the skatepark, and he definitely craved the company. So Cole stopped off at the 24-hour grocer, grabbed a six pack and a few bags of chips, and skated to Max’s trailer.

He thought he was plenty quiet, but Max’s expression showed he was wrong. Clicking the door behind him, Cole slung the backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it, revealing the beer and chips. He rolled his eyes, “I’ll kindly remind you that this fractured finger was an attempt to save your ass, Maxine. Here, I got beer and chips, wasn’t sure what you’d have,” he plopped down on her bed, holding his finger up to the light with a pout. “It’s not so bad, thanks for asking.” He was being purposely dramatic. In an exaggerated whisper, he responded: “Breakfast sounds nice. Is this quiet enough?” 

He chuckled and started towards the window. “Fancy a joint? It’ll be just like old times,” he suggested, remembering the mall. He turned away from her, a smile tugging at his mouth as he remembered what he’d said in the mall, and how she’d reacted with kindness. She wasn’t half bad. 

WHO: max mayfield & @colemontgomeryx

WHERE: mayfield residence 

sleepovers were sacred rituals in the eyes of max mayfield. although usually reserved for the likes of el or on accident in the wheeler’s basement, after what cole shared with her at the blue quarry mall, he could be looped into one of her favorite past times. while it may have been more difficult to swing because she was grounded, she still made a way. her instructions to cole had been clear. wait until midnight, she’d leave the door unlocked, he could come in, lock it and make a clean break for her room. susan mayfield would have long been passed out on the couch or tucked into her room

the clocks eventually ticked 12 : 00 and max waited to hear her trailer go bump in the night. by the time cole was securely inside her room her eyes were narrowed pointedly at him, “you and that stupid fractured finger couldn’t make it inside anymore quietly?” she asked, but still stood to drag him onto her bed, “come on, sit.” she urged, then crossed to her stereo and flicked it on. the chances of her mom coming to check on her were slim, but in case she did, she wanted something to drown out the noise of her and cole’s chatter. Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car blasted throughout her room as she jumped onto the bed and joined cole. “anyhow, if you can manage to quiet down, i figured we could sneak out early and go get breakfast or something. i know the diner is closed but, we could find somewhere. if you want.” she snatched a magazine from her bedside table and began flipping through it as she explained to cole, “cigarettes are in my bedside table, weed is in the top dresser drawer. help yourself, just open a window when you do.”  

eddiemcnson​:

+++

droplets of nervous sweat starting to appear above his brow, eddie’s eyes darted down to where cole pulled out that blasted bandana before he took both the cigarette and lighter from him. he clicked it a couple of times, no light appeared, eddie nervously glanced back up at cole, down at the lighter. violently shook it around for a moment, another attempt - it thankfully lit this time and he handed it back to cole.

he was a bundle of nerves. the previous pleasant buzz from the alcohol had almost entirely disappeared, he flicked  the cigarette’s filter repeatedly, fidgeted with his rings on his other hand. as if he was almost….waiting for cole to ridicule him. instead, however, he said something completely unexpected and eddie chocked on his own breath, sputtering cough.

he looked up to lock eyes with him. i am, too. the fuck did he mean? and ‘too’? was this some sort of trap? or was he literally genuinely saying what…eddie thought…he was saying? hadn’t he not gotten any of his surely widely popularly used phrases moments ago? he quirked a brow, took a drag once his coughing had subised. “you are….what?”, eyes narrowed, voice low in case this was, indeed, a trap.

adam richards was mentioned and, oh, jeez, it all made sense. eddie almost instantly felt bad, a guilty nauseau creeping up on him. way to go, munson, way to go. “your best friend, wasn’t he?” brows pulled together, lips twisted into a sympathetic smile. of course, max hadn’t been the only one who’d lost someone on the very ground they were standing on. “listen, man, i’m so…sorry - like, that’s gotta be rough, like, being here and everything. sorry. i can go and  leave you alone if you want to.”

xx. 

Cole didn’t waver under Eddie’s gaze. If he was correct, Eddie’s behavior made sense. Cole felt it too, the fear of being found out by someone who wasn’t safe. It was the reason Cole and Adam snuck around for the three years they were together-- to avoid the football jocks and the band geeks and the teachers berating them and calling them names. Only it never stopped there; it often got physical, violent. Of course Eddie was afraid.

It was like they were playing chicken, like they were standing in front of a train for as long as possible and pulling back at the last second-- exhilarating, maybe, but not satisfying. Something about being in the mall, all his thoughts about Adam... it was the perfect concoction for a confession. “I like guys,” he said, meeting Eddie’s eyes again. “Adam was my boyfriend.”

And then: relief. Cole felt like he’d recovered part of himself, like he’d regained a phantom limb. He hadn’t been able to talk about his feelings this openly since, well, Adam. It was refreshing, rejuvenating even. “If you want, I’ll prove it,” he teased, giving Eddie a once-over. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so open about it, but what’s the worst that could happen?

sinclairss​:

his car was kind of aa junker, but since he’d helped get the thing up and running again, he was kind of proud of it, even if lucas had to loop around the vehicle to unlock cole’s door manually with the key because the passenger side’s internal lock stuck. “oh yeah. probably.” he lifted his shoulder experimentally and tried not to wince at the white-hot surge of pain through him. he put on a brave face because that’s what he did, climbed into the driver’s seat and started up the car. hiphop crackled over the speakers and he reached over to turn down the volume, waiting until cole was safely in the car before backing up and out of there. 

at a stoplight, lucas looked over at cole and shook his head, a silent i-have-no-idea. he cleared his throat and focused back on the road as the light changed, thumb tapping out a rhythm against the steering wheel as they rolled through downtown hawkins. “all i know,” he said as the song changed on the radio. “is that one second i was over by you guys and the next i’m at the bottom of a grave.” he shrugged with his one good shoulder. a hollow chuckle followed. 

the headlights across the road were playing tricks on him. he kept seeing bill hargrove behind the wheel which was…that didn’t make any sense. right? he didn’t know what made him ask. maybe it was because he wanted to feel less insane. or maybe he just wanted to feel less alone. “did you…see anything while we were out there?”  

xx.

Cole climbed into the car, his movements slow due to the pounding of his head. He tried to watch Lucas’ face for a hint of pain, but there was nothing. Cole knew he’d fallen on his shoulder-- hard-- but he was showing no signs of pain now. In the back of his mind, Cole wondered if Lucas should even be driving, but it’s not like he was in any better condition, and given his track record with cars, Lucas probably wouldn’t want to hand over the keys.

Leaning his head back, Cole’s eyes fixed on Lucas’ hand, tapping out a beat to whatever song was in his head. How was Lucas so nonchalant right now? “It happened so fast,” Cole confirmed, unable to even remember how Lucas fell into the grave. He remembered trying to help him out and then being below himself. “Steve was being super weird, right?” Cole asked, unable to remember details of what Steve had said. 

Turning towards the driver, Cole felt a twisted sense of relief at Lucas’ question. Finally, Lucas wasn’t acting casual or unaffected. Finally, Cole knew that maybe he wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t quite ready to make a definitive statement. “Actually... yeah. It felt like a nightmare, but like, really real. My best friend died in the mall fire and I just... kept seeing what would’ve been his last moments.” Cole tried to force the image of Adam out of his mind. “Did you? See something?” 

The Wheeler family barbecue wasn't exactly Cole's first choice as far as Memorial Day festivities go. He would much rather be by the lake, pretending to read a book-- away from all the prying eyes of Hawkins' very own helicopter parents. But one chance run-in with Steve Harrington can derail even the strongest man's plans for the day. And Cole didn't mind, he sort of liked the twitch Karen Wheeler got when he was around.

See, Karen and Cole's mom used to be friends-- best friends, as Cole understood it. But best friends in the girl way, where they secretly hate each other and are always competing to be the prettiest, smartest, funniest, whatever. And then Maggie Montgomery got shipped off to New York and Karen won prom queen and that was supposed to be that. Until Maggie came back with a son, born around the same time as Karen's oldest, and suddenly the competition began again. Whose kid would be the smartest? The most athletic? The prettiest? It was amusing to Cole, especially in the last few years since he and Nancy have become friends.

So, he matched Karen's polite smile when he greeted her and raided her kitchen, making a plate of every feasible kind of chip and dip he could find. Karen watched him the whole time, peppering him with faux-questions used to assert Nancy's superiority. Are you still at Indiana State? Meaning: you aren't at a real college like Emory. How are you liking the Music Center? Meaning: Nancy has a real job running a newspaper, etc etc. After no less than twenty questions, Cole escaped to the front yard and to a cold beer. Glancing sideways, he noticed that Nancy had the same idea. "Prized pony, huh?" He grinned, clinking his beer to her plastic cup. "What would Mrs. Wheeler think if she knew Secretariat was defiling her body with alcohol?" he whispered, raising his eyebrows. "Hey, say the word and we can get outta here. You know I love to see Karen squirm."

𝐖𝐇𝐎: Nancy Wheeler & OPEN

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: Nancy escapes the confines of Karen Wheeler, spots your muse, and forces them to talk to her.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: Memorial Day aka Nancy’s Day!

Nancy had been home from Emerson for approximately five days and eight hours. In that time, she had barely seen the sunlight let alone escape from the grasp that was Karen Wheeler’s perfectly manicured hand. It was thing after thing with her mom. First, they went to the nail salon, then grocery shopping, then to The Gap, and then to her nana’s house for a visit. There had barely been time for her to even sit down and breathe for the last week. Then Karen began talking about how they should throw a BBQ for Nancy! It made perfect sense, in Karen’s mind. The Wheeler’s knew so many people and a cook out on Memorial Day was the perfect kickstarter to reintroduce Nancy to people who she had actively been avoiding since leaving Hawkins. Nancy would protest, looking over at her dad who’s glued to his Lay-Z Boy for some help, only for Ted to grumble and ask, “Do I have to cook?”

There was no use and come Memorial Day, the Wheeler’s backyard had been decorated. Her dad was on the grill and her mom was pushing Nancy along to talk to all of Karen’s friends. Nancy goes to Emerson! She’s a part of Alpha Epsilon Phi! And she’s dating the president of Sigma Alpha Epsilon! Oh, and she’s editor-in-chief at The Berkeley Beacon! Karen was bragging and bragging about all of Nancy’s accolades. It seemed to give Karen a leg up against all of her other friends who’s kids were still stuck in Hawkins. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” she said, excusing herself from the gaggle of moms.

Grabbing a red solo cup, she snuck off with one of the beers she spotted in the cooler, and poured it in the cup. There was no way she could tackle this sober. Taking a long drink, she spotted a familiar face, and booked it towards them. She needed some kind of distraction away from the clutches of Karen Wheeler. “Hey, do you think you could distract me for like… five minutes before I have to go back to being trotted around like a prized pony?”

who: Cole & @willthewize​

where: the Byers’ porch!

what: brother reveal (2.0) (semi-sober version)

The day after the Wheeler’s Fourth of July barbecue Cole woke up with a pounding headache and a faint memory of a conversation with Jonathan Byers. But, he’d also woken up in Adam’s arms, and that took precedence. Still, the memory haunted him; Cole couldn’t escape the embarrassment he felt knowing that he’d been noticeably drunk when he told Jonathan they were related. Not his brightest moment. 

In truth, he’d wanted to tell Will first-- he’d even tried before, after the camping trip at the lake, but he was too nervous. Cole figured that it might be an easier pill for Will to swallow, since they weren’t close in age like he and Jonathan. He’d fully intended to tell Will right away, Jonathan’s warning to ‘be careful’ ringing in his ears and convincing him that he needed to tell Will before someone else did. But, then the explosion happened and Cole was in the hospital. 

At this point, he didn’t know what to expect, and he was certainly worse for for the wear: bruises and cuts still healing, arm in a sling, bursts of pain in his torso from the broken ribs, and the ever-present fear that something worse was going to happen. That something worse might cause him to lose Adam again. And if something worse happened and Cole died (physically or otherwise) before he got to talk to Will, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. 

So, he filled up his flask-- only for a few bursts of liquid courage-- and drove over to the Byers’ neighborhood. Only, he couldn’t stop in front of the house. Nervous fingers tapping on the steering wheel, Cole looped around the neighborhood once. Twice. Three times. God, he didn’t have the gas money for that, so he parked about five houses down and got out, careful not to bang his ribs or his arm on the car, and began pacing. 

About a half hour passed, accompanied by a few more swigs of the stinging liquid, and the dread didn’t go away. So Cole took a deep breath and approached the house... only to see Will sitting on the porch, sketchbook in hand. Had he seen him the whole time? An embarrassed flush gathered on Cole’s cheeks, and he wiped his good hand on his jeans to dispel the sweat that had gathered.

“Hey, man,” Cole greeted, attempting to put on a casual smile. “Got a minute? There’s something I wanna talk to you about,” the words fell out in a jumbled heap, but he was glad he’d said it. That he couldn’t escape from it this time. “I talked to Jonathan a while back and, I just... I thought I should tell you.” Cole studied his sling, picking at the fabric fraying on the edge. “Lonnie’s my dad, too.” Saying it out loud, without copious amounts of beer to numb the feeling, left Cole feeling like he’d ripped a bandaid off. He was exposed, bare, vulnerable to whatever Will’s response would be. He wished desperately that he remembered what Jonathan had said, if only to have some litmus for how this would go.

To be honest, Cole had forgotten it was a holiday. He usually didn't work Mondays anyways, so it was easy to forget the date and any federal holidays that happened to fall on Mondays. That is, until he woke up this morning with a primal craving for a Wild Cherry Pepsi. Two stores down and Melvald's was his only hope. As Cole rounded the corner on his skateboard, he couldn't keep his laugh in. There was Max, arm cocked like she was about to-- throw a rock through the window?

He couldn't blame her determination, but he knew she'd get found out. "Maxine!" he called out, making a tsk sound. "Are you positively determined to prove every negative stereotype about skaters right?" He propped his skateboard up against the curb and sauntered over to his unlikely friend. "Well, fuck, Max. Did you try to pick the lock?" he motioned for her to put the rock down. "At least, something that won't get you caught immediately. What's so important, anyway?"

WHO: max mayfield && open.

WHERE: outside of melvald’s general store.

this wasn’t max’s most…well-thought-out plan, but she had ransacked the trailer for anything she could bring to the wheeler’s barbecue. and she was pretty sure cereal or swanson’s tv dinners wouldn’t cut it.  as she skated her way downtown in hopes of a miracle, she brainstormed what she could bring that wouldn’t be too complicated. she came up with the likes of doritos or boxed pasta salad. of course, when max pulled up to melvald’s and tugged at the doors, they were locked.  melvald’s, like the hawk, and every other godforsaken business in this town just had to be closed. “shit…” she breathed out, scanning her surroundings. not a car in sight…not a person … but there was a rock. maybe if she just…she could get away with it…

max scooped it up from the ground and raised her arm to chuck it through the window, but she felt these eyes on her.  turning around, max initially jumped at the sight of another person.  hadn’t she checked for people? in a swift recovery, max rolled her eyes and frowned, “asshole. you can’t just sneak up on people like that.” as if to explain herself, she stepped forward and gripped the handles once more, “it’s locked.”  after chucking the rock out into the road, max placed her hands on her hips, then eyed the other, “i need in, like now.” then as a hint to help or get lost she asked, “got any better ideas?” 

mmuscles​:

.

thad hadn’t known what he was expecting when he started (deservedly) railing into a random stranger for denting up his car, but it wasn’t this attitude. as if the temperature rapidly ticked up about ten degrees, thad had the sudden urge to tug on the collar of his own polo shirt. he bit back the desire and instead combatted the other, “i’m not guy, i’m thad.” he exclaimed, “you’re guy.” he shook his head, huffing. the feeling began to sink in that this wasn’t going to be easy in the slightest as the other continued arguing in that annoying tone of his. right as thad opened his mouth to recover, the other intruded on his personal space, knocking the words directly out of his mouth. thad attempted to hide that fact with a scoff. “right. tell me, pretty boy, you make a habit out of rear ending people? is that how your car got so fucked?” he looked past him, and to the car. partly because he wanted to see it again, but mostly because he couldn’t stand to meet his eyes. 

groaning and throwing his neck back dramatically, thad condescendingly laughed at the stranger, “i don’t want your fucking number, champ.” he proceeded in his attempts to assert his importance by giving him a firm smack on the shoulder, “i want you to pay for my car.” thad gripped his shoulder, hard, “put the keys down, you look ridiculous.” he followed that up by releasing the other. thad clicked his tongue, then shot him a finger gun, “be right back.” he turned around and jogged back to his car. throwing open the front door he dug into his glove compart for his mini legal pad and ballpoint pen that read bradshaw & co. diamond manufacturing. with both in hand, he was surprised to see his car’s assailant still standing in the road. thad jogged back, extending the pen and paper, “now be a good boy and give me your information, guy.” 

xx.

Cole couldn’t help the smirk that overtook his features. Though this was an objectively shitty situation, the guy’s out of proportion outrage was entertaining, at least. “Thad?” Cole repeated, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “If I were you, I’d stick with guy.” At least ‘guy’ didn’t give off super-rich silver spoon asshole. Though, if Cole had to guess... that wasn’t far from the truth. Then it clicked: this was Nancy’s boyfriend Thad. Summer home in the Hamptons Thad. Completely ignoring Thad’s questioning, Cole arched a brow. “Careful, guy, I’m not sure Nancy would love the idea of you calling another me pretty,” he winked. “But hey, what happens in Hawkins can stay in Hawkins.” He was purposely laying it on thick, hoping to make Thad squirm a little. 

I want you to pay for my car. Yeah, good luck, as Cole could barely even pay for his own. Wiggling out of Thad’s grip, Cole fixed him with a sickly-sweet and very fake smile. “Why would I pay for your car when that’s an easy touch up? Hell, I’ll even buff it for you, but I’ve got other expenses.” Cole rolled his eyes, shoving his keys in his back pocket. Rolling the pen around in his fingers, Cole snickered at the company name. A diamond manufacturer was asking him, a music store manager, to pay for a tiny dent? The irony. So, Cole decided to fuck with him. On the legal pad, he wrote: Steve Harrington, 6130 Valley View Rd. Plastering on the sickly sweet smile once again, Cole handed the notepad and pen back over to Thad. If Thad managed to make his way across town from Steve’s house to his own, he might be impressed enough to actually chip in for the car’s repairs. “You sure you don’t want me to throw in my phone number, guy?” 

Cole Through the Years (And the Songs He Listened To)

Every now and then, on a day he didn't have to work, Cole found himself wandering aimlessly around the main attractions of Hawkins; like he was taking a tour of his hometown. Today, somehow, he ended up at the high school. He couldn't decide if it was self-sabotage or nice to remember, but everywhere he looked he could see him. Lost in thought, it took the girl's deep sigh to shake him out of the fog. "Damn. Should've known the school was that broke," he joked, trying to plant himself firmly in the here-and-now.

Cole walked closer, peering at the girl. They definitely went to high school together, but weren't really friends. "Ginny, right?"

WHO: ginny sprat & open.

WHERE: the hawkins high tennis courts. 

she sat on the picnic table, head bent as she re-wrapped her racket’s handle. sweat dripped down her forehead and stung her eyes, but she hardly stopped to wipe it away. glancing up at the person nearby, who’s repeated pushes of the button indicated a familiar frustration. 

“water fountain’s broken,” she sighed, “so don’t even bother.” 

@zccming

“I sorta spent the last few days hangin’ out with Elliot.”