Chapter Text
“Did you miss the snow when you were in California?”
Will glanced up at Mike, who was watching Will through his snow gear, shovel in his gloved hands. A few dark curls peeked out from under his hat, and his cheeks were frozen red. They had been outside shoveling snow from a recent snowstorm, as per Mr. Wheeler’s request, for about fifteen minutes now.
“The snow, yeah,” Will said, sticking his shovel into it. “The cold part of it, not so much.”
A puff of fog appeared in the air in front of Mike as he breathed out a laugh. “I think I would miss the snow, too. Ironically, since all this shoveling sucks.”
“It’s not too bad,” Will continued. “I will say though, coming back to Indiana weather is a little bit of a shocker. It feels extra cold this year.”
Will saw Mike smile softly. “I think this time of year is nice.”
“It’s nice while it’s Christmas, but after all the decorations get taken down, the snow isn’t too great anymore,” he argued. “It just gets sad and cold.”
Mike nodded. “I get that.”
“It’s just so depressing in January and February,” he continued. “Like, everything is a mixture of gray and brown and white, and all of the trees are bare.”
“That’s when you get to spend time doing nothing, though,” Mike said, grunting as he hauled a particularly heavy load of snow off to the side. “Listening to music, reading, playing DnD… It's cozy in the winter.”
“Sure it is,” Will said. “Cozy and nasty and unpleasant.” He really did enjoy talking with Mike, even if it was just arguing about the weather in Indiana. Every shared conversation they had warmed a place deep within him, a part he didn’t want to acknowledge. It had taken him a long time to get used to it– the fact that he would always feel differently about Mike than his other friends. He still didn’t accept that part of him, and never would (and never could), but at least he wasn’t crying about it anymore, in front of Mike at least. He had moved past what happened in the van. He knew would never fall out of love with Mike, so he would just have to live with it.
Will wasn’t going to pretend like it was fine, because it wasn’t. He just had to resign himself to the fact that he would never be able to get the love he wanted. And that would just have to be his life.
So after a few moments of silence, when he accidentally made eye contact with Mike mid-shovel, it pained him a little bit, but he knew that he just needed to keep it pushed down and saved for later. He couldn’t show Mike right now how much his brown eyes meant to him, and how much they would always mean to him.
While Will was still deep in thought, Mike spoke again. “So uh…” He clicked his tongue and took a deep breath. “There is something I’ve, uh, been wanting to tell you. Now that we’re alone.”
Will froze. “What is it?” It can’t have to do with what I was just thinking about, it can’t…
“It’s about El.”
Of course. Will felt the pit in his stomach deepen into a cavern. Here he goes again. “What about her?” he asked, then to keep the mood light, he added, “It better not be anything gross. She is my sister, you know.”
Mike furrowed his eyebrows like the thought of that bothered him somehow. “No, no. It’s, uh, nothing like that.”
Will waited a few moments as watched as Mike turned around to shovel a new area. “What’s going on, Mike?” He pressed.
“We uh…” Mike began, throwing his snow into their ever-increasing pile. “We broke up.”
They broke up… Will was dumbfounded. After all that time he spent trying to fix their relationship, they had broken up. His immediate thought was to ask Mike if he was okay, but some shameful part deep inside of him began to wonder… no, he had to shut that down. He just broke up with her, dummy. That doesn’t mean that he wants you. “Oh…” was all he could manage.
“Yeah, we broke up like a week ago, actually. It’s been coming for a long time before that, too,” Mike added. “I think the break up was just us realizing that we’ve only ever really been friends over the past year. The official, verbal recognition, at least.”
Will couldn’t speak. He should be saying something, should be comforting Mike, but all that was running through his brain were stupidly, disgustingly hopeful thoughts. He broke up with her… he broke up with her… they aren’t together… they aren’t together…
“Will?” Mike asked, standing upright and using his shovel for balance. “What are you thinking?”
Will swallowed, throat cold from breathing in freezing air. “Um… sorry– I… I’m sorry about that.”
Smooth.
Mike shrugged. “Neither of us are sad, really.”
What the hell am I supposed to say then, Michael? Will thought. “Well… that’s good then, I guess?”
“Yeah.” A smile played on his chapped lips, and Will could have sworn he saw Mike look him up and down. “It’s good.”
“So, have you told the others? Lucas and Dustin?” Will asked.
“No, not yet.” Mike looked away again, down at the snow. He continued shoveling. “Just you, actually.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So don’t tell anyone else yet, okay?”
Will shook his head. “I won’t”
“Thanks.” Mike shot him a smile, which Will returned.
They stayed in the driveway shoveling until Will’s arms burned beyond belief and he had gotten chilled to the very bone. Once it was clear, they headed back into the garage to remove their snow gear. Will had to avert his eyes as Mike stripped out of his large coat and bibs, even though no skin was being exposed. He was just too wound up from the reveal that Mike and El had been broken up for a week.
We’ve only ever really been friends over the past year. That’s what he said, right? Will thought back to all the times Mike had ever looked at him longer than three seconds, or when he gripped his shoulder, or used his soft voice, or wrapped his arm around his shoulder, or sat close to him, or touched his hand. All friendly things, really. Added together, though? Still friendly, the voice in his head filled in. Don’t you dare get your hopes up now. He’ll just find another girlfriend and you’ll be heartbroken again.
Deep in his thoughts, Will didn’t even realize that he had gripped Mike’s shoulder to use as balance for slipping his boots off.
“Dude, your hand is freezing!” Mike gasped. “I can feel it through my shirt!”
“Oh– sorry.” Will quickly removed his hand and resorted to hopping on one foot to catch himself.
Mike’s eyebrows tilted up. “No, that’s not what I meant! You can use me, it was just surprising.”
Will just shook his head. “I’ve got my boots off now anyways.”
Just then, Mike did something that Will knew he would be thinking about for a month. He grabbed Will’s hand, rolling it over, pressing Will’s icy fingers against his own warm palm. “Here,” he said softly, peering at Will through his dark bangs. “Warmer?”
Will certainly did feel warmer now, especially in the face. “Uh, yeah. Much warmer. Thanks.”
That same soft smile appeared on Mike’s face again, and Will couldn’t help but glance just for a second at Mike’s red, chapped lips.
Stop.
Mike dropped his hand as if he heard Will’s inner monologue. “Let’s go in,” he said.
As Will and Mike stepped into the house they were immediately hit with warmth from the heater, The Waitresses faintly playing, and the wonderful aroma of Mrs. Wheeler’s holiday cookies.
Merry Christmas, merry Christmas, but I think I’ll miss this one this year. Merry Christmas, merry Christmas, but I think I’ll miss this one this year.
“Oh, boys, you’re done!” Mrs. Wheeler said as they both entered the kitchen together, cold and tired. It was like a Christmas baking explosion happened in there– glass bowls, spatulas, sprinkles, icing bags, baking pans, and cookie cutters littered the island Mrs. Wheeler was standing at.
“Is the driveway all cleared, Michael?” Mr. Wheeler, who surprisingly was also in the kitchen, asked and leaned over the counter. “You never were very good at shoveling. Not very strong.”
“Yes, Dad,” Mike groaned. “Will got all the spots I missed.”
Mr. Wheeler’s eyes drifted over to Will and suddenly an icy shiver ran through him, making him impossibly colder. He stared for a second, seemingly judging, then said, “Good.”
Will felt his shoulders relax.
Mrs. Wheeler wiped her hands off on her candy cane-striped apron and smiled brightly at the boys, red lipstick perfectly applied. “Well, I hope it wasn’t too cold. I thought you might be when you came back in, so I started making some hot cocoa,” she said, and walked over to a pot on the stove. “Just grab some mugs and I’ll pour it in.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler,” Will said gratefully.
From the cabinet, Mike grabbed a mug and Will reached in after him, purposefully dodging the Raegan ‘84 mug Mr. Wheeler kept in there for his coffee. After Mrs. Wheeler poured them some and Mike added way too many marshmallows on his, they both moved to sit at the kitchen table. Will couldn’t lie– it was the best hot chocolate he’d ever had.
“You like it?” Mike asked.
Will peered at him over the top of his mug, almost chugging it. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mhm.” Will nodded. “It’s great.”
Mike smiled, real and genuine, and Will couldn’t help but admire it. Mike’s eyes drifted down to Will’s mouth. “You’ve still got some on your face.”
Will took a finger and tried to wipe it off, but Mike shook his head. “Here,” Mike pointed on his own face where it was, and Will tried to get it, but he was still wiping the wrong side.
Mike pursed his lips, quickly glanced into the kitchen to look towards his parents. Upon seeing they weren’t facing their direction, he leaned forward with his arm outstretched.
It took Will a second too long to realize what Mike was trying to do, and by the time he realized, Mike’s hand was already brushing Will’s jaw and his fingers were so close to his lips that he made a weird noise and jumped slightly back.
Mike managed to quickly swipe away the hot chocolate, but not before Nancy’s voice appeared from behind Will.
“What are you weirdos up to?” She asked, leaning on the table between them. Jonathan wasn’t far behind her.
Will knew his face was on fire, and it was undeniable that Mike’s was too. He felt his stomach swoop.
“Oh, did Mom make hot chocolate?” She gasped, and headed into the kitchen.
As Jonathan followed her, he made sure to shoot Will a strange look from behind.
Shit.
Will looked over to Mike sheepishly, but he already had the mug to his lips and was sipping his hot cocoa, looking down at the wood grain of the table like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
They had fucked up.
Mike had been the one to do it, which was strange in itself. He had never seen Dustin and Lucas wipe each other's mouths. Maybe as a joke, but something about the way Mike had done it didn’t seem like a joke. But really the worst part was that Will had been the one to make it weird. And for that, it was his fault they were sitting like this now.
Merry Christmas, merry Christmas, I couldn’t miss this one this year, Merry Christmas, merry Christmas, I couldn’t miss this one this year.
***
They helped Mrs. Wheeler with her cookies for a while after that. Mike and Nancy rolled the dough and cut it into various holiday-themed shapes, Jonathan watched the oven, and Will and Holly decorated. Joyce came home from Hopper’s cabin some time in there and she joined Mrs. Wheeler on the island stools with glasses of wine, watching all the kids work together– or try, at least– to make good Christmas cookies.
Will and Holly were doing just fine working as a pair. He had always liked Holly; she was sweet and had a vivid imagination, and honestly reminded him a little bit of himself. After living with her all these months, she had honestly begun to feel like his little sister.
Mike and Nancy, however, were not working as a dream team.
“This cookie is completely uneven!” She said, examining the dough at eye level. “It is not rolled flat at all, Mike.”
Mike rolled his eyes and put an aggressive amount of energy into the rolling pin. “Is this better?”
Nancy gasped. “No, no, no! It’s too thin, now!”
“Ugh, shit!” Mike threw the rolling pin down. “How about you do it, then?”
“Language,” came Mr. Wheeler’s lazy drone from the living room.
“Yeah,” Nancy whispered to Mike. “Language.”
Karen tutted at the two of them and shook her head, Joyce clearly trying not to smile.
Will couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, which earned him a side eye from Mike. He always loved watching Mike from a distance, as disgusting as it sounded. He looked especially good right now, hair messy, sleeves rolled up, apron tied around his waist, a dusting of flour across his cheekbone. Beautiful, Will thought shamefully. He glanced over at his mother, who was now laughing with Mrs. Wheeler like she hadn’t in months, and then at Jonathan, who was looking at Nancy like she hung the stars. He couldn’t break their hearts with his feelings. He already had caused them enough trouble over the years.
When all the cookies were miraculously decorated– around 300 of them– they worked on organizing them all into separate tins. They would go out to families in need, neighbors, and people that were still feeling the effects of the “earthquake” even all these months later. It was a good thing to do, Will thought.
When the tins were ready to go, tightly packed and wrapped with ribbon, they set them by the front door for delivery the next day. Mrs. Wheeler ordered Chinese food since the kitchen was such a mess, and the Byers and the Wheelers gathered around the table like they did every night for dinner.
Pleasant chatter ensued between the families, but Will mostly stayed quiet. He was utterly exhausted from spending the day hauling snow in the driveway and then hunched over a counter delicately icing 300 cookies. He stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork and lazily chewed on it, staring at his plate.
“Mike, can you pass the rice?” He heard Nancy ask.
Mike reached for the box, brushing against Will’s arm in the process. He couldn’t help but look up at Mike’s face, and found that he was already looking at him. Quickly, Mike shifted his gaze to Nancy and handed her the box, then went back to his food interestedly. Will didn’t miss Mr. Wheeler’s death stare at Will from the head of the table– suspicion and disdain apparent in his expression.
Does he know I’m in love with his son? Will thought to himself. Probably. He’s always hated me.
Will shyly returned to his food.
After helping Holly and Mrs. Wheeler wash the dishes, Will was heading upstairs to use the shower when he saw Mike step in front of him.
“Hey, Will,” he said, stopping at the top of the stairwell, looking down at him. “Do you wanna, uh– do you wanna come to my room? To listen to music or something?”
“Sure,” Will answered, with no hesitation. “Can I take a quick shower first?”
Mike pursed his lips then said, “Oh, yeah. Of course. Go ahead. I’ll uh, take one after you.”
“Okay,” Will nodded and walked past him towards the bathroom.
As he felt the hot water rinse over him, he couldn’t help but think of all the weird things that happened that day. First of all, Mike broke up with Eleven. Inside the darkest part of Will, it was his dream come true. And Mike hadn’t told anyone except Will, too, for reasons unknown. Then, of course there was Mike holding Will’s hand, but he wasn’t positive that “holding” was the right word exactly. Grabbing? Feeling, maybe? He wasn’t quite sure how else to describe it. Then there was Mike and the hot chocolate incident, wiping it off of Will’s face. He had only seen couples do that in the movies, but maybe it could be a friendly thing, too? It must have to be. It had to be. And all those looks they shared. Friendly?
God, I’m reading too far into this. Will thought, shoving his face into the stream of water. I’m pathetic.
Will hopped out a few minutes later, dried off, threw some pajama pants and a t-shirt on, then headed to Mike’s bedroom.
“Your turn,” Will said, turning the doorknob. He barely caught a glimpse of Mike, who was hunched over his desk, seemingly reading something. He whipped his head to look at Will, then with a rustle of paper, quickly shoved whatever it was in his drawer and spun around to face him, a clearly guilty look on his face.
Will blinked at him suspiciously, then repeated, “It’s your turn.”
Mike nodded overenthusiastically and stood. “Of course. Yeah, I’m going.” He rummaged through some dresser drawers for pajamas and left the room.
Will breathed a sigh. He wanted nothing more than to peek in Mike’s desk drawer at what he had been looking at, but he didn’t. Probably a comic, or maybe a Christmas present for Will. That would explain the hiding.
Will wandered further into Mike’s room, shutting the door behind him. He ended up belly-down on his bed, propped up by the elbows and reading a comic he’d found on Mike’s nightstand. Waiting.
He had always loved Mike’s room; he found a sense of comfort and safety in it he sometimes couldn’t find in his own room at their old house or in Lenora. Whether it was the bedroom’s fault of the absence of Mike, he didn’t know. Well, he did, actually. He just couldn’t admit it out loud.
He became so engrossed in the comic that it surprised him when Mike opened the door, hair dripping and smelling fresh. Will’s head popped up and he watched as Mike softly closed the door behind him. He could’ve sworn he saw Mike lock it, but he couldn’t tell as Mike’s hands were behind his back.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey,” Will replied, sitting up.
Mike wandered over to the stereo system and began running his fingers over his cassette collection. Van Halen, Tears for Fears, R.E.M., Prince, A Flock of Seagulls. His fingers stopped on a David Bowie album.
“What about this?”
Will perked up. “Bowie? Really?”
Mike shrugged, slipping it out of his stand. “I know you like him.”
Will smiled as Mike inserted it into the cassette player. “Yeah, I do.”
As the intro to “Five Years” came softly through the speakers, Mike moved to sit down next to Will on the bed. They sat there for a second, listening to the intro.
Pushing through the market square, so many mothers sighing. News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in.
“This is a lot better than Christmas music,” Mike sighed. “Sometimes I can’t stand it. My mom blasts it this time of year.”
“It’s not all bad,” Will insisted. “Some of it’s pretty… nostalgic, I guess.”
Mike raised his eyebrows and gave Will a quizzical look. “Name one Christmas song that’s good.”
“Hmm…” Will thought for a moment. “Oh! You know that Eagles one?”
“'Please Come Home For Christmas'?” Mike asked, eyebrows raising. “That’s so… mushy!”
Will shrugged. “I like a lot of slow songs.”
Mike fell back onto the bed, letting his arms rest behind his head. His damp hair fell in strings across his forehead. “You like punk rock. Like The Cure. And The Smiths.”
Will ignored the sudden warmth that spread in his stomach. The warmth of being known. “And what’s wrong with that?”
Mike was quiet for a moment, then started whispering. “William, William, it was really nothing.” He was singing, softly but exaggeratedly, moving his head from side to side with the tempo, which was clashing horribly with David Bowie. “William, William, it was really nothing. It was your li–”
Will quickly reached above Mike’s head and grabbed a pillow, smushing it into Mike’s face. He squealed beneath him, trying to swat away Will.
“How do you even know that song?” Will asked, feeling a red heat start to grow on his face, but smiling despite it. “I thought you didn’t like The Smiths!”
“You like The Smiths,” Mike replied, as if it were that simple.
He shouldn’t have said that, Will thought quietly, his mind already making up a thousand scenarios, fantasizing about Mike listening to The Smiths just for him. And to one of his favorite songs, nonetheless!
When Will finally loosened his grip on the pillow, Mike pulled it off his face and peered at Will, the bottom half of his face still covered by it. Suddenly, it was only them in the world: Mike’s brown eyes against Will’s hazel. David Bowie was bellowing in the background, Will’s hands were resting on either side of Mike’s shoulders on the soft comforter of his bed, and all he could do was just stare. Stare at Mike, who was right below him, so close. So close.
And it was cold, and it rained, so I felt like an actor. And I thought of Ma, and I wanted to get back there.
“Your face, your race, the way that you talk," Mike sang, very suddenly bursting into a theatrical performance. He was still looking at Will intently. “I kiss you, you’re beautiful, I want you to walk!”
Will felt dizzy. He shakily pushed himself off of Mike, who began thrashing. “We got five years! Stuck on my eyes! C’mon, Will, sing with me! Five years…”
“What a surprise,” Will filled in. Mike smiled so brightly that Will felt like he would faint. Then he began to laugh hard, and Will couldn’t help but join in.
As it died down, Mike still held Will’s gaze. After a couple moments of watching each other’s smiles fade, he more seriously said, “I want to watch you draw.”
Will was thrown off, but compliant. “Okay. Well uh, my stuff is in the basement, but… Um, what exactly–?”
“Just use the stuff in here,” Mike responded, gesturing to his desk. He sat up and began fixing his pillows against the headboard again. “The paper should be in my desk drawer,” he added absentmindedly.
Will knit his eyebrows in confusion, remembering when Mike had stuffed something in there seemingly secretively. Would he get to see it? “Okay…” Will got up off the bed to open the drawer, and right when his hand was about to touch the knob, Mike called out.
“Oh– stop!” Mike scrambled off the bed, running to stand in front of the drawer, blocking Will. “Shit, sorry, uh– hold on. Turn around.”
Will, confused but willing, turned around. “What’s in there, Mike?”
He heard some shuffling from behind him, and then Mike’s suspicious voice. “Nothing,” he said, then added with finality, “I promise.”
I guess I’ll never know.
“Okay, come sit down,” Mike said, bringing a notebook and pencil to his bed. Will joined him cautiously, sitting against the headboard with Mike, making sure not to have any part of them be touching. When Mike lifted his comforter to allow Will to slip inside, he had a hard time hiding his surprise, but didn’t deny the opportunity. He slid in, allowing the warmth and the smell of Mike to envelop him.
“‘Last Christmas’,” Will said, grabbing the notebook and pencil from Mike. When he glanced over at him, his eyes were wide and his eyebrows were drawn up.
“What?” Mike squeaked.
Will let out a breath of laughter. What’s wrong with Mike? “The song. It’s another good Christmas song.”
Mike’s face visibly relaxed, then turned into playful disgust. “Ughh.” He ran a hand over his face. “It’s so overplayed.”
Will laughed.
“And George Michael?” Mike groaned. “And I’m never gonna dance again! Guilty feet have got– oompf!”
Will had felt brave. He had felt brave, and it was stupid, because now his hand was covering Mike’s mouth and he could feel his lips move against his fingers. And Will was turning red.
He snatched his hand back and focused on the notebook in front of him, turning to an empty page. He very pointedly did not look at Mike, and very pointedly did not linger on how soft Mike’s lips had been. How plump. How pink. How– stop!
It took a little bit to move on from that moment for Will, but soon they reached a quiet rhythm, with Mike asking Will to draw certain doodles, and Will sleepily sketching them to Mike’s desire. David Bowie still droned on in the background, filling the cozy room with glam rock while Will worked.
People stared at the makeup on his face. Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace. The boy in the bright blue jeans jumped up on the stage, Lady Stardust sang his songs of darkness and disgrace.
Will had always liked this song. Right now though, it was making him incredibly sleepy. He really should’ve been heading back to the basement– Jonathan was surely wondering where he was. The languid piano and slow melodies were getting to him though, and he felt his eyes grow increasingly heavier as time went on.
“Okay… give me David Bowie riding a dragon,” Mike told him.
It took Will a second to process that request, then he huffed quietly. “I can’t do that.”
Mike reached his arm across Will’s chest to grab the notebook. “I’ll do it, then.”
Will didn’t have the energy to laugh at the fact that Mike was trying to draw. “Alright…”
“This is gonna be the best thing you’ve ever seen, just wait for it…” Mike bit his lip and focused in, beginning to sketch what Will thought was a dragon wing… or maybe Bowie’s mullet?
Yes, he was awful nice, really quite out of sight. And he sang all night long…
Will slumped back further onto the pillow, curling onto his side to face the notebook. He watched Mike’s fingers moving more than the sketch– how they gripped the pencil, thin and bony, veins on the back. Pretty, Will thought dazily. Pretty…
His eyes slipped shut.
Boys stood upon their chairs to make their point of view. I smiled sadly, for a love I could not obey…
“I think I got the dragon done,” Mike whispered.
Will hummed and cracked his eyes open. “Looks good…” It did not. It looked like a pegasus. Will could tell him that in the morning, though.
“Really? Thanks,” Mike said, twirling the pencil to the eraser, fixing something.
Will closed his eyes again, letting them fall heavily. He was just resting them, really. He was about to get up and go to the basement.
Oh, how I sighed, when they asked if I knew his name.
Will did not get up and go to the basement. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he did remember that he had never done it faster and more comfortably. There was just something about the combination of Mike’s mattress topper, the fluffy comforter, Mike’s scent surrounding him, the soft yellow lamp light, and Mike’s steady presence that lulled him off.
The thought never crossed his mind that he fell asleep in Mike’s bed, dangerously close to him.
Maybe it should’ve.