Work Text:
Christmas, no doubt, is Will’s favorite time of the year.
Sure, there was Halloween, which is fun with the candy and the horror and the costumes which help escape the mortifying ordeal of being seen. There was summer break, and to anyone below the age of 22 perhaps, nothing could top months of no classes and no responsibilities and fun-in-the-sun. There was also Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day and birthdays, each of which involved celebrations of their own accord—turkey and romance and life. So on and so forth.
But for Will, there was nothing quite like Christmas, because it was the one holiday that somehow allowed him to forget about all his woes.
The Byers had somewhat of a magic touch for making this occasion the most special . His mother had made sure Christmas was the most festive they could ever be, a promise she started to uphold the year his dad left their household and carried on ever since. There was nothing quite like Christmas in the place he was born and raised.
Christmas in Hawkins was his own household becoming more chaotic than usual, with wrappers strewn all over the floor and the Byers’ dog Chester ripping said wrappers to bits and pieces. It was hearty meals at the dinner table—meals that were basically his mother’s experiments, as it was one of the few times she had time to sort through her cookbook. Half the time, the meals were overcooked or a bit weird to the taste, but the hopeful smile on his mother’s face was enough to make each bite worthwhile. It was watching Hallmark movies, rocking out to Christmas classics on Jonathan’s stereo (much to his older brother’s distaste), and taking silly polaroids after gift exchange.
Christmas in Hawkins was going to Weathertop with his friends; sled races and snowball fights and snowman-building competitions. It was ice skating at Lovers’ Lake and having a picnic in the chilly weather, sometimes even having a campfire if the snow wasn’t too deep and strong. It was convening at the Wheelers’ house in the evening with hot chocolate and gift exchanges by the fireplace. It was making snow angels in the backyard while looking up at the frosty sky, and trying to tell the difference between the stars and the snowflakes.
Christmas in Hawkins was everything , and Will thinks nothing could ever top it. Because he was with his family and friends. Because despite the misgivings the town has given Will over the course of his childhood and teenage years, it was home.
It’s supposed to be his favorite time of the year, but right now that feeling is contested by the way Will looks out the window of his apartment and glares at the pure white sheets illuminated under the glow of the street lamps.
The news called it one of the worst snowstorms that Chicago has faced in years. Its unpredictable nature meant many things. Continuous snowfall. An even bigger drop in temperature. Snow beds that go deep in some areas and even deeper in others.
And above all things, canceled trips to get out. An event that’s expected to go on until after Christmas day. Which means Will is stuck in Chicago, away from Hawkins—from his family for Christmas. For the very first time.
(For all the times Will has fallen in love with the windy city, he’s beginning to see the downside of it. From the way his professors kept him in class until the very last day of the semester, to the way he couldn’t even go to the airport, he begins to feel something akin to regret.
Every place has its curses. Hawkins has them, and so Chicago would have them, too. Will can see that now.)
He thinks back to the heartbroken tone of his mother’s voice when he passed on the news. In all fairness, Jonathan was also stuck in New York for the holidays. He takes comfort in at least knowing that nobody in his family was alone. His mother had Hopper—his stepdad, but it’s gonna take some time and practice to call him that and not by his nickname—and El. Jonathan had Nancy and Argyle. They all had their loved ones to spend Christmas day with.
Speaking of loved ones, Will thinks fondly as he feels the warmth of another body from behind him; the wrapped arms around his waist and the press of a nose against the back of his head.
“If you glare hard enough at the snow, maybe it’ll melt,” Mike chuckles. The vibration that emanates from his boyfriend’s voice and into Will’s body is enough to calm Will’s agitation away, and so he leans against the taller boy.
“I’m trying my best,” Will sighs. Mike kisses his temple in affection as he rubs circles along his torso. “I wish we were home.” He glances at his watch, the time reading 11:57 pm. Just perfect.
“I know,” Mike soothes. A part of Will feels guilty for all his whining and irritation, because at least he had Mike with him. He knew his boyfriend had been doing his best to lift Will’s spirits all Christmas Eve. They’d spent most of the evening with almost all of the remainder of their college survival food and the shitty Hallmark movies. It didn’t work (despite Mike’s commentary, which usually never failed to make him laugh), so Mike had suggested Will do a painting. It had been a good idea for a solid 20 minutes until Will had decided to glare at the scenery before him instead, the snowy white street matching his blank white canvas.
They stay that way for a while, and Will tries to focus all his energy on Mike. He smelled like the cheap ramen noodles they had for dinner. His hands were so, so warm. Will feels his heartbeat go steady and basks in the silence, almost forgetting all his woes and practically melting into Mike’s touch and falling asleep—
—until a blindfold goes over his eyes.
“Hey!” Will startles, reaching for the blindfold. Mike catches his hand just in time and intertwines their fingers together with a little squeeze.
“I have a surprise planned for you,” Mike says giddily, as if he was a child on Christmas. (Technically, he wasn’t far off.)
A surprise? Will thinks, and then he remembers that it’s Christmas, and Mike probably wanted to open their gifts. He tries to reach for the blindfold with his other hand, and is again stopped by Mike. “If we’re doing presents, I need to be able to see where the gift is, Michael,” he sasses.
“It’s not present time yet,” Mike says. “We have all day to do that. This is another surprise.” He squeezes their fingers together once more. “Do you trust me?”
Will thinks it’s a stupid question, because Mike is the one person he trusts more than anyone else in the world, but it never hurt to remind him of that matter of fact. And besides, dealing with a surprise—from his boyfriend , no less—was infinitesimally better than dealing with his Debbie Downer-ness on Christmas . So he brings Mike’s hand to his face and presses a feather-light kiss against his knuckles.
“Of course I trust you,” Will responds softly. He then smirks. “Unless this surprise is something that involves your horrible cooking, in which case…absolutely not. ”
“You wound me,” Mike says, feigning hurt as he starts maneuvering Will around the apartment. Will can practically sense the eye roll from the other boy. “And no, it doesn’t involve my absolutely amazing cooking—” Will scoffs. “I think…I think you’ll really like this one.”
There’s a bit of hesitation in Mike’s voice, leaving Will confused. He opts not to say anything until Mike leads them both to a stop. Something that feels like a card is placed into his hand, and Mike fixes his head to face the floor before he removes the blindfold. The card reads:
Step 1: Start Christmas with breakfast at midnight. And loads of hot chocolate. In bed.
“Mike…?” but when Will looks up, his mouth flies open at the view before him.
The spare Christmas lights that they hadn’t put up around the apartment are dimly lit by the bedframe. Two scented candles from Will’s collection—vanilla bean and lavender—are lit up on the bedside table. The bed itself has the pillows fluffed up, the duvet properly folded, and has a tray (it’s Mike’s, for when he’s using his laptop in bed due to laziness) filled with what looks like cinnamon rolls from the bakery near their building (Will’s favorite product from the place). There are two mugs of hot chocolate, with marshmallows and candy canes on the side.
Will turns toward Mike, speechless. The other boy gives him a sheepish smile. “Merry Christmas, Will. I know you’re bummed out since we can’t be in Hawkins for it, but it’s also… our first Christmas together. Alone,” Mike explains. Will can make out his boyfriend’s blushing beneath the warm yellow lighting. “And so I thought I’d make a new little…tradition of sorts. I don’t wanna say tradition, of course, because obviously all our Christmases won’t be spent stranded out here in Chicago—” Mike’s stumbling on his words a bit, and Will registers the other cards in his hands. “—but this could be a nice you-and-I-as-boyfriends thing…? I-If you don’t like the idea, I totally understand, but at least eat the stuff on the table, because—”
“Mike!” Will finds his voice as he puts one hand over Mike’s mouth. His heart is melting from the gesture. “I think…I think it’s a great idea.”
“Really?” Mike says, muffled. Will removes his hand and cups Mike’s face.
“Really,” he smiles. “Let’s do it.”
Mike’s smile rivals the brightness of all the lights, and Will’s utterly blinded by how adorable he is. “Let’s do it,” he echoes as he drags Will to the bed.
They dig into the heat of their apparent breakfast, and occasionally feed each other their rolls like those dumb, dorky couples on TV. The hot chocolate is good, too, especially with the candy canes melting into it for that pepperminty taste.
(“It’s a recent discovery I made,” Mike smiles giddily as he holds up his mug with the candy cane melting into the drink. “Pretty fucking genius, if you ask me.” And well, Will can’t really argue with that.)
They eat and drink and talk and suddenly Will forgets about his woes and starts to feel sleepy. Mike too, judging by the giant yawn he just did.
“So what did you think of our kickstart to Mike-and-Will’s-Christmas-Craze ?” Mike asks as he puts the dishes and tray away. “I’d say we're off to a good start.”
Will raises an eyebrow. “Mike-and-Will’s-Christmas-Craze?” He repeats. “You’re making it sound like we’re in a Hallmark movie.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Mike challenges playfully. “And in my defense, it’s a great name for our little holiday spectacular.”
“So it is. And yes, ” Will chuckles. “It was a nice way to kick off Christmas. Although don’t think I’m letting it slide that you took inspiration from a Taylor Swift lyric for this idea.”
“She’s a genius, and so am I!” Mike says proudly. Will thinks he’s a dork. He wants to kiss the smile off of Mike’s dorky face.
“Get in here,” Will says instead, patting the space on the bed. Mike happily complies, and they settle under the covers, with Mike laying his head on Will’s chest. He plays with the silky strands of Mike’s fluffy hair, and it suddenly hits him how sleepy he was. It was the effect of the hot chocolate, he realizes. “So what’s the next step, mastermind?”
Will can feel Mike’s sleepy smile against his chest. “Later when we wake up,” Mike promises. He wraps his arms around Will like a Christmas present. “You’re gonna love what I have in store for you.” There’s a twinge of excitement in Mike’s tone, and Will can’t help but feel giddy by the flurry of festivities that await him.
“It better be a Christmas Craze indeed, or I’m taking back your present, Wheeler,” he teases gently. Mike scoffs, but tightens his hold around Will.
“We said we’d go crazy together, Byers,” Mike reminds him, and god, Will loves this man so much. “This holiday won’t be an exemption from that. Now shut up and go to bed. Christmas magic awaits.” He sing-songs sleepily.
Fucking dork, Will sighs, but shuts his eyes. Christmas magic awaits, indeed.
Step 2: Do a Christmas photoshoot with ugly Christmas sweaters.
“You are the biggest dork I have ever met.”
“Yeah, and you’re dating me anyway. Says as much about you as it does me.”
Will shakes his head fondly as he adjusts the sleeves of his sweater. His ugly Christmas sweater. It’s bright red and a bit too big for his taste, but it’s surprisingly soft to the touch. The front of the sweater has thick gold lines, and at the center, an even bigger, brighter gold bow. There’s a tag on it that reads “the greatest gift ever.”
(“It’s true,” Mike had shrugged when Will looked at him incredulously. “ You are the greatest gift ever bestowed…upon my life.”
He had said it with so much endearment that Will all but tugged him close and kissed him stupid.)
His sweater is meant to match Mike’s, because Mike did not just get ugly Christmas sweaters—he got them couples’ ugly Christmas sweaters. The complement to his “greatest gift” sweater was a forest green one that Mike was practically swimming in. Nearly half of the clothing was wrapped in gold tinsel, with tiny shiny red and gold balls attached. There was also a big star, with a taped photo of one Lucas Sinclair, specifically the one of his winning shot that earned Hawkins’ championship title in their senior year.
(“Because he’s a star,” Mike had said. Will wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not. He had sent the photo with Lucas’ photo clearly highlighted to the Party’s group chat, to which Lucas had sent multiple middle finger emojis while the rest of them had sent incoherent letter smashes. There was also a “Nicely done, Wheeler,” from Max.)
“When did you even find time to get these sweaters? And why are they so comfy?” Will asks. He feels like a pampered pupa snuggled in its comfiest cocoon.
“A magician never tells his secrets,” Mike replies, adjusting the tinsel on his sweater.
“You’re not even a magician,” Will scoffs.
“It’s Christmas. Christmas magic claims that I can be whatever I want to be.”
“Oh? Isn’t that something you normally say on Halloween,” Will laughs. “I think the Christmas magic induced idiocy in your brain.” This earns him a swat in the arm from the Sinclair star. “Ow!” Will pouts. Mike pecks it away.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Mike grumbles, rubbing the area he hit. “Christmas magic made you a bit of a bully for the season.”
“I love you, too,” Will smiles. “Now, are we gonna do this or what?”
Mike had woken up earlier than Will—which was a rarer occurrence than Erica Sinclair being nice to them—and set up their living room area to make it look like a scene from a Christmas card. They didn’t have a proper camera, so Mike set up his phone on a stand with a timer ready.
It was a weird way to start off their morning, considering they weren’t as put together having just woken up, and considering Mike himself was infamous for his distaste in photos. Will remembers Mike’s grumpy cat expressions during yearbook photoshoots, how he never smiled properly. But here he was, eager to actually take photos. With poses. In ugly Christmas sweaters.
Christmas magic seemed to affect Mike in peculiar ways. Will chooses not to question it any further.
“Get ready,” Mike said, setting up the timer for 10 seconds.
It was over 15 minutes of arguing and different takes with different poses, from formal ones to candid ones to a pose where Mike positioned himself to look like an actual Christmas tree and Will had kneeled beside him. Because gifts are always placed underneath the tree, or whatever.
“You’re quite the model,” Will muses as Mike strikes another pose. “Did years of formal Wheeler family photoshoots give you enough practice?”
“Fuck off. And yes, what about it? You’re just as much of a model as I am, anyway!” Which, after years of Jonathan hyping him for photos, was a fair point.
They take a few more photos, and Will finds himself to be enjoying the utter silliness of what they were doing. Even better, he finds Mike enjoying the utter silliness of what they were doing. Mike’s smiles were so genuine, so unlike the ones constantly captured on film. And while some of Mike’s poses were decent, others were just so awkward. He was lanky, he didn’t know where to place his hands half the time, and he was as stiff as a board.
It’s so utterly Mike that Will can’t even bring himself to laugh. He looks through Mike’s camera roll, favoriting the best shots and forwarding them to himself.
“As much fun as this was, I’m gonna take a hot shower,” Will declares as he finishes sorting through the photos. “Do I get to know what our next step is?”
“Of course you don’t,” Mike answers, shrugging the sweater off. Some of the glitter from the tinsel mixes in with the freckles on Mike’s face, making an unfairly adorable constellation across his cheeks and nose. “Go shower, you stink.”
“Bah humbug,” Will sing-songs.
Step 3: Call the family and the Party.
The third step almost brings Will to tears. It’s the opposite of bah humbug. “Gubmuh hab.” Incomprehensible , just like the thoughts and emotions that pass through his brain.
For when he stepped out of the shower and back into the living room, Mike had set up his laptop to reveal a Zoom party. With the Party. And his family.
“Merry Christmas, Will!” They all shout excitedly. In one frame are his parents and El, no doubt looking like Santa and Mrs. Clause and their happy little helper, respectively. In another frame are Jonathan, Nancy, and Argyle, looking suspiciously a bit too relaxed, but not too obvious to Hopper’s eye. There’s Dustin with Steve and Robin in one frame, and Lucas and Max in another. He’s overcome with a sudden urge to cry of happiness.
“Hey guys! Merry Christmas!” He manages to say clearly as he settles beside Mike. The other boy squeezes his palm, and gives him a gentle smile and a knowing look. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you all today!”
“It’s Christmas, man! We’re always gonna hear from each other!” Lucas exclaims. “The Zoom call was Mike’s idea since most of us can’t see each other in person!”
Will turns to Mike, who shrugs sheepishly. “It’s all part of my master plan.” He’s still reeling from seeing everyone he loves despite not actually being with them in person, so Will says nothing but gives his boyfriend the softest smile he could muster.
“If you guys can stop staring at each other, that’d be great,” Dustin grumbles. Both Will and Mike turn away simultaneously, cheeks heating up just enough to melt a snowman. “Now, are we gonna play Christmas charades or what?”
It was tradition within the Party (and sometimes with the rest of their makeshift family) to have at least one activity together for Christmas. If it was the Party only, it involved…copious amounts of eggnog (courtesy of Dustin and Max) and games. If it was with the rest of their friends and family, it was potluck and Christmassy stories.
They had spent the next hour or so playing Christmas charades, with Will and Mike going neck in neck with Max and Lucas for the coveted win. “It’s because they’re too damn competitive,” Steve had complained like an old lady.
(Mike and Will had won the match, but only because Max and Lucas had ended up arguing over whether Die Hard was a Christmas movie. “Yes it is, it’s set in winter!” Lucas had said, to which Max responded, “Bruce Willis doesn’t consider it to be one, dingus! And not all movies set in winter are Christmas movies!”
Robin and Steve had ended up arguing with them. Robin had taken Max’s side, while Steve took Lucas’ side. It got into a 10 minute long debate that Hopper eventually broke apart, because “Santa’s getting sick of your bullshit!” In those exact words.)
Eventually, the call starts dwindling down. First it was Dustin, Steve, and Robin who left, then Max and Lucas, until it was just the Byers left. Mike and Nancy had left to go call their parents briefly, while Argyle had passed out. They end up exchanging past Christmas memories.
“Do you remember when you guys were twelve, and our mission was to help El sell all her girl scout cookies for the Christmas drive?” Jonathan laughs. “I remember us just running around Hawkins and mom forcing her manager to buy most of them.”
“Hey!” Joyce laughs. “The guilt trip did the trick. And El won 500 dollars for selling out fast. It’s all about the joy of Christmas, and what better way to enjoy that than mint thins?”
“Or do you remember the time dad agreed to be Santa Claus at the mall?” El grins mischievously as Hopper glares. “I remember this kid who yanked on his fake beard when dad didn’t immediately give him his gift. And then he stormed out of his chair for like two minutes and made the rest of the kids cry.”
“The kid was a menace!” Hopper cries defensively. “That hurt, okay? And he was definitely on Santa’s naughty list after that! No way he was gonna get a gift. I should’ve given him a lump of coal,” he mutters. Joyce bursts out laughing to the point of snorting, and suddenly the rest of their family just laugh hysterically.
“I miss you guys,” Joyce admits once the laughter dies down. “It’s the first time my boys aren’t home for Christmas.” And yes, the urge to cry came back in an even stronger wave. Will wipes his eyes away, trying to put on a brave face for his mother.
“I miss you too, mom. But we’ll see each other soon,” Will promises, voice wobbling. He was so homesick .
“Come on, Joyce, don’t make the boy cry. It needs to be a Ha-ha- happy holiday!” Hopper chimes. Will laughs incredulously.
“Oh come on, dad, it’s ho-ho-ho, not ha-ha-ha!” El rolls her eyes. Hopper chuckles and ruffles her head.
“We’ll be home for New Year’s,” Jonathan agrees. “We’d still have time to do all our Christmas traditions.” Joyce nods. They wind up making plans for when the entire family reunites in a few days’ time. Will can’t wait to give everyone his gifts and go picnicking at Weathertop.
Eventually, they have to go, since Hopper is still Chief and needs to go to work. The call ends with Joyce giving flying kisses for all of two minutes and virtual hugs. Will stares at the now-black screen, his somewhat mopey reflection staring back at him.
“Hey,” Mike says worriedly as he pops out of their bedroom. “Will? You okay?” He grips a hand on Will’s shoulder, and Will leans into his touch.
“Yeah,” Will says softly. “I’m just… homesick is all.” He stretches his legs as he looks up at Mike’s concerned face. “Don’t worry about me. How was calling your family?”
Mike huffs out a breath. “Same old, same old,” he says simply. “Dad fell asleep 10 minutes into the call. Nana was judging me as per usual, ” he rolls his eyes. “The good news is that Holly is amazed I managed to get Taylor Swift tickets for her.”
“You survived The Great War for it,” Will laughs jokingly as he caresses the hand gripping his shoulder. “She should be amazed.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mike giggles. Suddenly, he straightens, removing his hand from Will’s shoulder. “Now come on and get up. We’re going out.”
Will raises an eyebrow and glances out the window. Snow was still falling, albeit gentler than the previous nights. He overheard their neighbors the day before say that the snow packs reached thigh level, and he’s hesitant to have to deal with that. “Are we now?”
“We have to, if we’re gonna continue Mike-and-Will’s-Christmas-Craze,” Mike replies sassily. “And besides, the weather isn’t too bad. We won’t be going far.” The excitement on Mike’s face is enough to push Will’s doubt away, and so he gets up and walks to the door. Before one foot is out, though, Mike yanks him back. “Oh, wait!”
“Hey!” Will grumbles.
“Sorry,” Mike winces. He points up to the top of the door, where a measly mistletoe is hanging. “Mistletoe. You know what to do.”
Will shakes his head incredulously. “ You yank me by the arm and hurt me and now you’re expecting a kiss from me ?”
Mike pouts and tugs Will closer. “Let me kiss it better for you.” He leans down and presses a kiss against Will’s bicep, and starts trailing kisses upward: shoulder blade, collarbone, jawline, cheeks, and nose. Will hates how flustered he looks, hates even more the knowing, arrogant, stupid little smirk on his boyfriend’s face. “Feel better now?” Mike asks.
Will grabs his chin until their noses bump. He feels Mike exhale shakily from their closeness. It’s Will’s turn to smirk now. “Just one more, maybe,” he replies before shutting the door and leaning into Mike’s mouth.
(They don’t get out of their apartment for a while.)
Step 4: Brace the snow for some unconventional Christmas shopping.
Despite the harshness the weather bestowed upon the city for days, winter in Chicago is beautiful.
Snow falls gently over the cars and the streets. Some of the city workers have shoveled pathways on the sidewalks for anyone passing by. The stores that are open glow with many colors of Christmas lights; some are plain white or warm, others have twinkling colors of red, green, and blue. Some children are building snowmen and having snowball fights at the park.
(Mike had attempted to initiate a snowball fight, which backfired quickly because up until now, he has shit long distance aim. Will, on the other hand, grew up with Jonathan. Snowball fights between the Byers siblings were brutal. )
They walk hand-in-hand. It hits Will suddenly that he actually ached to go out, after being trapped in their apartment for about three days. It felt good to stretch his legs and feel the winter air nipping at his skin. He hears Mike whistling to the tune of Winter Wonderland. “Really setting the mood, I see,” he comments.
Mike turns to Will, cheeks flushed from the cold, and gives him a small smile. “It’s ‘cause we’re walking in a winter wonderland,” he sing-songs. He then opens his mouth in an attempt to catch a snowflake on the tip of his tongue.
“You know that when snow falls, bacteria and germs and lots of potentially dangerous things go into it, right?”
His boyfriend glares playfully at him with a glimmer in his eyes. “For your information, Mr. Thinks-He-Knows-It-All, a single snowflake is generally nontoxic. And I’ve been eating snow for years without getting sick.”
Will decides not to mention that Mike in fact had gotten sick once or twice over the holidays, most likely because of his snow-eating habit. “Whatever you say, Mr. I-Eat-Snow-Like-An-Abomination.” Mike rolls his eyes. “Anyway, we’re here!”
He gestures to the grocery store that they usually go to after classes. It was owned by Mrs. Kim, a sweet old Korean lady who’s been running the store with her family for years. Mrs. Kim absolutely adored the two of them and offered them some of her baked goods for free occasionally.
Will turns to him confused. “There’s no way we’re using our emergency food pack for Christmas. I say we actually prepare something nice for dinner. And also, I want to make a gingerbread house,” Mike explains. “We haven’t done that in years.” He pouts like a child.
“Boys!” Mrs. Kim calls to them as she opens the door. “Come, come!” She gestures, grabbing Mike’s arm to pull him inside. “It’s too cold for you boys to stay out there!”
The grocery store is toasty warm, and Will breathes a sigh of relief. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Kim,” he greets her. “I’m surprised you’re open today.”
“Business is business,” Mrs. Kim shrugs. “And people like you who are trapped in Chicago may need a pick-me-up. Go and help yourselves!”
Mike grabs a shopping cart, and they’re off. They squabble over what to buy (because they were going to be in Hawkins soon, so how much food did they exactly need that wouldn’t spoil?) and what exactly to cook for Christmas dinner (“We can do ham sandwiches with Christmas ham?” “Why the fuck would we do that?”). Mike sneaks in extra sweets—whether for the gingerbread house or because Mike was a menace or both, Will isn’t sure—while Will goes through his phone for ingredients.
They spend an ungodly amount of time in the grocery store. It’s actually nice, Will thinks, because normally the grocery store dealt with the chaos of other college students buying cheap meals and crying babies with fussing parents and angry mothers by the counter. Right now, though, there were barely any people, save for Mrs. Kim's family and an old couple sorting through the magazine section.
“I think that’s everything,” Mike says proudly as he puts one more bag of marshmallows in the cart. Will rolls his eyes, grabbing the bag and returning it on a random shelf.
“I am not gonna stand by and watch you give yourself diabetes,” Will grumbles. Mike pouts again, but resistance for Will is not futile for once. He pushes the cart to one of the cash registers. The cashier is Denise, one of Mrs. Kim's family whom Will hasn’t met yet, chewing on bubblegum and looking bored. For some reason, she lights up when she sees Mike.
“Oh, hi there!” she smiles, fluttering her eyelashes a tad too rapidly. Will feels his blood boil. In the background, All I Want For Christmas Is You starts playing loudly. Just brilliant.
“Hey,” Mike greets her politely. “Working on Christmas day? That must suck.”
Denise shrugs and leans forward, her chest…protruding a bit much. Will’s grip on one of the items (a bag of marshmallows) tightens, and he channels his death glare at the cashier. Mike doesn’t seem to notice just yet as he’s putting the items on the counter for scanning.
“It did suck, until now,” she grins as she half-heartedly scans their items. “What are your Christmas plans?”
Mike faces her, frowning slightly at her position. “Erm…just gonna make dinner and…stuff.” He’s probably not revealing his other plans to Will for their “Mike-and-Will’s-Christmas-Craze” shenanigan.
“Aww, these ingredients seem like you’re having dinner for two,” Denise continues, as if Will obviously wasn’t right there. “Anyone you’re having dinner with?” Will feels his eye literally twitch. He thinks about exploding her with his mind.
“Well…” Mike says, turning to Will. As he catches the latter’s expression, his frown deepens. “Will, are you okay?”
“Peachy,” Will replies, faking a smile at Mike for a quick second before glaring at Denise once more. The cashier either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. His boyfriend looks between the two of them, a glimmer of understanding falling on his face. His smile turns mischievous.
“Actually…” Mike begins, and Denise lights up, presumably happy he’s making conversation with her. “I’m going to spend Christmas with my boyfriend. ” He wraps his arm around Will and tugs him closer.
Denise blinks, straightening her posture, and by the look on her face, it’s clear she wants to disintegrate right then and there. “Oh, I’m sorry…I didn’t realize-”
“Didn’t realize my boyfriend was right here?” Mike challenges. Will smirks at Mike’s defensiveness and Denise’s flustered appearance. The cashier wisely says nothing and averts her gaze as she scans the items faster.
“That’ll be seventy dollars and fifty cents,” she mumbles. Before Will even gets his wallet out of his hand, Mike slams a one hundred dollar bill on the counter.
“I’m gonna pay for this,” Mike says. Will isn’t sure if he’s talking to him or Denise. “I wanna be a gentleman for my boyfriend on Christmas day. Sounds nice, don’t you think, Denise?”
“Yeah,” Denise squeaks. Mike chuckles.
“Give the change to Mrs. Kim. Consider it her Christmas present. I would’ve given the change to you…but since you were very inconsiderate of my boyfriend, I think not. Merry Christmas, though!”
They don’t give Denise a chance to speak as Mike tugs on Will’s free hand out the door. “You were jealous,” Mike remarks after walking a few paces away from the shop.
“She was being all Santa Baby on you and shit,” Will grumbles. “As if I wasn’t right fucking there.” Mike laughs for a few seconds
“Seriously, Will,” Mike shakes his head. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve gotten better at reading when people are openly flirting with me. You know I’m mostly oblivious because—” he inhales, and Will just knows something cheesy is going to come out of his mouth. “—I only wish for you. After all,” and he’s then breaking into song. “All I want for Christmas is you! Youuuuuu, baby!”
His voice cracks, and so does Will’s grumpy demeanor. And well, he can share Mike’s sentiment. All he wanted for Christmas was him, too.
Step 5: Christmas food. Gingerbread houses. Whatever’s manageable.
The thing about Mike Wheeler is that sometimes, he can never just shut up.
Once they got back to their apartment, Mike had immediately connected his phone to their Bluetooth speaker and started playing what was apparently the official “Mike-and-Will’s-Christmas-Craze” playlist. “I know you’re the playlist maker between the two of us, but I wanted to switch it up for a change!” Mike told him. “Consider this a mini Christmas surprise in my grand scheme.”
Now they were unloading all the ingredients they bought for their Christmas dinner/gingerbread house making, and Mike was swaying his hips along to the song. “Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!” Mike yells over Michael Bublé's voice.
“It already is snowing,” Will laughs. “Now stop singing and get to work.” Of course, Mike won’t listen, as his grin widens like the Cheshire Cat and he sings even louder. Will is thankful that their neighbors are out for the holidays.
Eventually, Mike complies and they do get to work. They’ve decided on roasting a chicken, since it was cheap and a fairly easy dish to make. And also, who doesn’t love good ol’ roast chicken? Will does the chopping (because Mike had already almost cut his fingers twice using a knife) while Mike does the reading and the stirring (because it was something even he couldn’t fuck up, he wasn’t that useless, come on ).
It all feels so domestic . Will briefly wonders if this is how his Christmases with Mike would be in the future, whether they were with family or not. He looks to his boyfriend, who’s now humming along to Last Christmas while making sauce.
The truth of it all is that he doesn’t mind at all. Not one bit.
“Okay,” Will sighs tiredly as he places the chicken in the oven. They have about an hour and a half to kill. “What now, mastermind?”
Mike actually bounces excitedly as he brings out the bag filled with gingerbread house pieces. “Now, it’s gingerbread time!”
Since it apparently takes more time to bake a gingerbread house than it takes to make roast chicken, they had decided to buy store-bought pieces (they were lucky that it was Mrs. Kim's recipe). And an excessive amount of buttercream, gumdrops, candy canes, marshmallows, sprinkles chocolate, and cinnamon sticks.
In short, all the ingredients that could very well send either of them into hyperglycemia.
“I’ve decided to make this into a game,” Mike smirks. “I bought just enough to make two gingerbread houses. Winner gets to have the window seat during the flight.”
Window seats were top-tier seats. Will smirks right back, shaking Mike’s hand.
“Prepare to get your ass beat, Wheeler.”
The competition proved to be a little too intense. Will had forgotten that Mike was a Wheeler, and that meant having to help Karen Wheeler with her Christmas goodies extravaganza. Despite clumsy, clammy hands, Mike was surprisingly adept at keeping the house stable.
(“Holly would yell at me if I made the house fall,” Mike admits at one point. “There’s nothing quite like the wrath of your little sister to keep you in line. Also, need I remind you that I’m second best at physics next to Dustin. Physics is what you need to keep the house afloat.”)
Will, however, is an art major. He’s dealt with pottery and sculpting for over half a year. He keeps the roof of the gingerbread house intact with ease.
“How’s that for stability?” Will asks, gesturing to his roof. Mike’s roof is holding up just right, though not as aesthetically as Will’s.
“Oh, fuck off, ” Mike rolls his eyes. “Get to decorating. I haven’t lost just yet. ”
A few more minutes pass. Will gets into it: making sure the candy cane fences stuck just right, dusting the roof with just enough powdered sugar and coconut, and even going as far as adding intricate details of swirls and snowflakes on the rest of the house.
He looks to Mike’s, and knows deep down he’s going to win. Because while Mike proved to be competitive in stability, he lacked creativity. The peppermint swirls he placed on the roof were uneven, and the buttercream he placed as snow was…too much.
They send photos of their finished work to the Party’s group chat. And obviously, Will won.
(“Mike, it looks like Holly was the one who decorated your house,” was Max’s message. It received five laugh reactions from the other Party members.
“Don’t insult my kid sister that way!” Mike grumbles, sending a spam of middle finger and angry face emojis. “It’s not like they can do any better, anyway.”)
“Hello, window seat!” Will cheers. He has the audacity to snag a peppermint swirl off of Mike’s (now falling-apart) roof. By the look on his boyfriend’s face, Will knows he looks a tad bit too smug.
“Hey!” Mike whines. “That was my peppermint!” He picks up a bag of powdered sugar and throws it at Will’s face.
Oh, so that’s how it is? Will grabs the other bag of sugar and throws it back. “Take that!”
It’s an all out war now. Baby It’s Cold Outside plays in the background as they chase each other around the kitchen. It starts with throwing powdered sugar at each other to smearing buttercream and chocolate at each other’s faces.
Will is about to slip from the powder-infested floor, but Mike catches him smoothly. “Do you surrender?” he asks, gripping onto Will’s waist tightly. Their proximity is so close that Will feels his breath catch. Mike leans forward, looking like he’s about to kiss Will, and any coherent thought or snarky comeback from Will is thrown out the window.
Instead, Mike leans to the side of Will’s mouth and licks a smear of buttercream off his cheek.
“Gross, Mike!” Will laughs. His boyfriend grins at him goofily, apron dusted with white. The timer from the oven dings, a signal that their chicken was ready. “Get off, I need to check on the chicken.”
Mike makes absolutely no attempt to move. “No thanks. I’m fine right here,” he waggles his eyebrows. Will rolls his eyes, pushing Mike’s face away. “Don’t push me away! I want a kiss!”
“You’ll get more than one if you shower.”
Will’s never seen Mike run as fast as he just did.
Step 6: Exchange gifts.
Christmas dinner was good. As good as two college students limited by a better budget could have for a special occasion meal, that is.
They’ve just finished washing the dishes, which took more time than usual because they couldn’t stop singing. It’s not their fault Jingle Bell Rock and Sleigh Ride were so addicting to sing, okay?
“Present time!” Mike declares as he puts the last plate down onto the dishrack. They sit down by the center table in their living room where the presents were neatly wrapped under their mini Christmas tree. “Wanna open gifts at the same time?”
“Sure,” Will nods a bit sleepily. The cold weather mixed with the fullness he felt from their meal (and the many sweets from their now demolished gingerbread houses) tempted him to collapse into his warm, cozy bed and call it a night.
“Don’t pass out on me, Byers,” Mike nudges him gently and presses a kiss on his nose. “We’re not done with Mike-and-Will’s-Christmas-Craze.”
“On that note, how come it’s Mike and Will and not Will and Mike?” Will teases him.
“Because I came up with the entire thing,” Mike replies, raising an eyebrow. “You’re free to call it Will-and-Mike's-Christmas-Craze. The other one sounds better, though.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“Disagree to agree to disagree.”
“Disagree to disagree to agree to disa-”
Mike doesn’t let Will finish as he cups cool hands around his jaw. “It doesn’t matter which sounds better. The point is we’re going Christmas-crazy-together, anyway.” Mike’s eyes twinkle. Before Will can lean in for a kiss, Mike pulls away and hands him his gift.
“No stalling. I wanna see what you have in store for me,” Mike says giddily. Always one to love presents, Will shakes his head fondly.
“On three, okay?” Will tells him, hands on the ribbon. “One…two…three!”
Will unwraps his gift to reveal a leather-bound notebook. It’s brown with a lock with loads of paper; an estimate of 180 GSM per page . In other words, one of the best quality papers for thick writing and for almost any medium of art.
He opens the first page. It’s a dedication: “Every story needs a vision. Just like every vision of me needs every vision of you. Merry Christmas! Love, Mike.”
It’s too damn sappy and touching and yet so endearingly Mike. He turns through the pages to see mini stories in Mike’s handwriting. Some are D&D themed, others are OCs of his boyfriend’s creation. Few of them are some memories that Mike took from childhood and from growing up, made into whimsical writing.
There are some empty pages, too. Will gives Mike a questioning look. “It’s to give you space for drawing,” the taller boy says as he holds his own gift to his chest.
(His gift to Mike was yet another painting, one of them by the campfire during one of the Party’s last trips before going to college. It was Mike and Will against the heat of the fire; one of Mike’s arms draped around Will’s shoulders, hands intertwined. It was glowing embers and shining stars and the scenario of two boys in love—two survivors who made it despite all the odds their old small town gave them.)
Will is speechless. Mike had given him a goddamn storybook, one that he could complete. He remembers when they were kids and had a small dream of their own: to create stories together as illustrator and writer, to bring magic to people like…like them.
His heart swells with a bit too much emotion. Mike looks worriedly at him.
“Hey, do you not like your gift?” Mike asks, eyebrows scrunched in doubt. Will shakes his head immediately, pulling Mike into a hug.
“I-I love it,” Will says into his shoulder. “When did you even have time to write all of this?”
Mike shrugs. “These are stories and shit I’ve written since high school. I haven’t shared it with anyone else. You...you’re the first one.” He rubs the back of his neck and lets out a long exhale. “You will always be the first one to read my stories.”
Will falls in love just a little bit harder.
“Read me one right now?” Will pleads like a little kid. Mike chuckles, but silently agrees, and maneuvers them so they lay on the couch, Will resting his head on Mike’s chest. Mike flips to a random page and begins to read.
“I wrote this a few days after we started dating. Don’t come at me for the sappiness,” Mike warns him. Will flicks his face.
“Stop stalling and start reading.”
“Waking Up: An Excerpt,” Mike reads. He sounds…somewhat embarrassed. Will nudges his face against Mike’s neck for encouragement. “Sometimes, waking up means dread. It means opening your eyes to a world you hate, to a life you’re tired of living, to absolute nothingness. Lately, waking up means fear. Fear of the known and unknown alike; fear of both change and staying the same. But as I look at you when you’re beside me for the first time together—” Mike looks at Will then. “Waking up means love and laughter and bravery. And suddenly, waking up isn’t so bad anymore.”
It’s short, and Will can’t tell if it’s meant to be a poem or something else, but the fondness that creeps through Mike’s voice is intoxicating, all the more knowing the “you” in his short story was him.
“What’d you think?” Mike asks nervously. Will hugs him tightly.
“It’s great,” Will replies. “You are such a fucking sap.”
“Only for you.”
Will begs him to read a bit more, mostly because he was exhausted from their Christmas shenanigans. He looks lazily toward their big window. It’s still snowing up to now, although it’s gentler than how it was the whole day. The slow jazz of Christmas music combined with the calm rasp of Mike’s voice is enough to just lull him asleep, even just for a few seconds…
Step 7: (Slow) dance under the Christmas lights.
“Hey!” Mike whispers. “Don’t sleep. Christmas isn’t over yet. I still have one last step on our little adventure.”
But you’re so cozy! Will wants to say. “And what would that be?” he asks instead, letting out a big yawn. All he really wants to do now is snuggle against his boyfriend. But said boyfriend gets off the couch and leaves Will to fend the cold by himself. “Mike!” He whines, petulant like a child.
“Dance with me?” Mike asks, holding a hand out. And well…he looks so hopeful. So handsome.
There have only been a few instances where Will Byers had ever denied Mike Wheeler. This would not be one of them.
“Fine,” Will smiles, taking Mike’s hand. Mike wraps an arm around his waist and pulls Will close to his neck. In turn, Will wraps his arms around Mike’s shoulders and presses his face on the collarbone.
Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine?
They’re not exactly dancing, per say, just swaying. “Earth Angel isn’t even a Christmas song,” Will points out, voice muffled. Mike laughs.
My darling dear, love you all the time
“It’s jazzy enough to fit the Christmas theme,” Mike argues. “Plus, you love this song. You won’t admit it, Mr. Somewhat-Pretentious-With-Music-Taste—” at this, Will snorts. “—but I’ve seen your Spotify Wrapped. It’s at least somewhere in the Top 20.”
I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.
“Whatever,” Will grumbles, in no mood to put up a playful argument, instead in a mood to breathe in the cinnamon scent of Mike and keep warm in his arms. Mike has his cheek pressed against Will’s head, movements slowing down by the second. When he looks to his surroundings, he notices that Mike had turned off half of the Christmas lights. The only source of light comes from the street lamp outside and a few strung up lights around their living room.
They stay in motion for the next minute or so, until Mike speaks up again. “Hey, Will?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be in Hawkins for Christmas,” Mike sighs, tightening his hold around Will. “I know how much you miss your family and our friends. I know you miss home .”
And Will thinks back to today. Because yes, he did miss his family and everyone else he would see in Hawkins. He did miss chaos and Weathertop and Indiana snow—he did miss home.
But then he was with Mike. Sweet, sweet Mike, who came up with ways to cheer Will up on Christmas day, plans that reminded Will of holidays in Hawkins, ever the planner that he was. Mike, who Will knows wasn’t the jolliest during this time of year (he was a Halloween man, after all), but who decked himself out in Christmas spirit just to make Will smile.
Mike, who makes Will safe and warm and comfortable. Who is as familiar and beautiful as a place so dear to him.
Mike, who Will loves so, so much.
Will removes his head from where it was positioned against Mike. He looks straight into his boyfriend’s eyes; eyes that glimmer in curiosity, nervousness, and above all, contentedness. “Christmas to me is when I’m home.” He agrees.
Earth angel, earth angel, please be mine
He presses a soft, snowflake kiss against Mike’s lips, channels all his gratefulness for what Mike had done for him today. “And Mike, you are my home. Merry Christmas.”
My darling dear, love you for all time
“Merry Christmas,” Mike whispers back. They stop swaying, foreheads pressed together, relishing the end of what Will considers is one of his best Christmases yet.
I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.
