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Bill had a problem. Well, more than one, a few problems at the very least. But most pressing of those problems was that his new boyfriend(!) was flying in to see Bill and have his first Christmas since they were kids(!!) and it was Bill's job to make it special(!!!).
Bill also really hadn't had a Christmas since they were kids. Actually, as a kid, he usually spent holidays with the Toziers, so he had more experience with Hanukah than Christmas. And spent more late Decembers in Florida at Universal Studios because Wentworth Tozier was a dentist and took his family and any kid that had lenient enough parents on vacation over winter break. He kept the habit as an adult, even when he didn't know why he kept yearning for humidity and tourist trap wizard gift shops as soon as the TV started playing Christmas-themed ads.
Back to the issue: Mike didn't join the Tozier family flight to Florida. The Hanlons were a close-knit group and the farm was big enough to host the extended branches of their family tree. Mike spent the weeks leading up to break simultaneously exhausted from extra chores and ecstatic to see his cousins. So, Losers trip to Florida for the nostalgia? Out.
This left Bill in the middle of Target, solemnly staring at the wall of Christmas candies before him. Were Hershey's kisses too cliché? Wait, what were the clichés? He hadn't been plugged in to the ever-changing Christmas culture in years. He generally spent the winter in a post-Halloween haze, given he spent the whole fall upping the spooky ante as necessitated by his chosen genre. And thus, he ended up grabbing candies at random, shoving them in the cart, and whispering, "Go, go, go, go!" to himself as he sped to the next aisle. And was held up once again by the sheer amount of tinsel he was met with.
It took him a solid hour to "peruse" (read: contemplate) the Christmas section of his local Target, his cart full of an ever-rotating cast of red and green and gold and silver and blue accoutrement because as soon as he found one thing that seemed okay, he'd find a seemingly better thing, and so on. The list he was writing mid-shop wasn't much more of a help, either, considering that also changed constantly. In the end, his cart was half full of things he'd seen before in Christmas specials he used to watch while laying belly-down next to Richie on a hotel bed, deep in a grab bag of candy that he had to periodically wrestle away from Stan. They put those on for me, he realized belatedly, but then the thought was interrupted as he wandered into the grocery aisles and found even more Christmas wares and was overwhelmed again.
The list got longer, and he had to resort to using emojis to check off the things he got. Cranberries, oranges, candy canes, butter, chocolate, sugar... The grocery section was hectic and crowded, and Bill felt his heartrate skyrocketing and his breath shortening. He ended up speeding through these aisles, too, just trying to get out and calm down.
It didn't get better once he got home and realized that none of the things he bought really went together. Chocolates and fruit candy, tinsel and ornaments and no tree, lights and nothing to hang them on, stocking stuffers and no stockings, sides and no entrée for dinner, pie crust and no filling. His haul was the equivalent of a middle-aged newly-empty-nested white mom's box full of Christmas leftovers that sit in the attic waiting for the time to be useful. Also, Mike was there. In his house. Already. When he was scheduled to fly in the next morning.
"Fuck me," Bill said, quietly and with feeling.
"What was that?" Mike asked, halfway outstretching his arms to offer a hug.
"Uh, I- I'm happy to see! You!" The entire world must have cringed at the delivery, but it was okay once Bill stepped forward and accepted Mike's hug. He missed this, a lot. Mike was travelling, sight-seeing and investigating locations for a podcast he'd been putting together. One Bill helped him write, something that blended story with reality. It was really cool. Mike was really cool. Mike, who was standing in front of him in his house. Mike Hanlon, his boyfriend. "I missed you, Mike."
Mike, to his credit, seemed fully prepared for Bill to not make any sense. "I missed you too, Bill." He pulled back only to lean in again, waiting for Bill to flutter his eyes closed and move in himself. They hadn't kissed since Bill saw Mike off at the airport a few weeks ago. And Bill was so flustered that the kiss was short and clumsy. But Mike just smiled, traced circles around the back of Bill's neck to calm him, and tried again. Practice apparently makes perfect. Or, calming down from a mild anxiety attack made you better at kissing.
"Aren't we supposed to um- sp-ontaneously end up under mistletoe or something and then kiss?" Bill asked, hands full of bags so he couldn't embrace Mike back.
"Look up, sweetheart."
Ah, Bill thought. I've been tricked. "How did you end up getting h-here so fast you had time to hang up decorations without me?"
"Richie can drive."
"Traitor."
"I planned on getting here earlier, but you texted me that list, so I wanted to get everything and meet you here."
Bill paused. "List?"
Mike pulled up his phone, texting app still open and Bill's haphazard shopping list on display. "You texted me this a few hours ago and then kept sending me check mark emojis when I asked you questions about it."
"Fuck me," Bill said again, louder this time and with even more feeling. "I- that was- I was trying to sur-surprise you and- I th-ought I was in my notes?"
Mike's laugh was just as clear and wonderful as Bill remembered it being. "And to think I've been missing out on this for weeks just so I could go find Krampus." He kept laughing as Bill's cheeks turned as red as the tinsel flowing out of his bat-print novelty tote turned reusable shopping bag. Mike grabbed at said bag and brought it into Bill's kitchen, laying out its contents on the counter next to his own haul.
"Wait-" Bill said as he set down the boxes of string lights next to a few packages of hooks. "Did you-?"
Mike paused his unpacking of potatoes next to his offering of butter and heavy cream. "Bill," a snort interrupted his sentence. "Did you only text me the things you didn't get?"
"Oh my god." He heaved a sigh of relief that quickly turned to his own laughter.
"Were you freaking out because you realized you only got half of what you needed?"
"Oh my fucking god."
Mike reached out and Bill went into his arms, collapsing into his bouncing chest and matching it with his heaving chuckles. "Bill, I love you. And I love how your brain works like this and things just happen to work out. But maybe next time, we coordinate for real?"
Bill nodded into Mike's chest. "I love you, too."