Archive of Our Own

Will always liked pretty things.

As a child, he liked to take the few makeup items Joyce owned just to feel their texture. He would use the back of his hand to make streaks: one with lipstick, another with mascara, another with blush. He liked how some shimmered, while others were creamier, and some were just powder — like dust, but made for art.

He liked flowers and used to want to collect them. Back then, he never tried, because he was afraid Lonnie might find and destroy them. As he grew older, Will discovered they weren't meant to be collected. They would destroy themselves. Like everything in nature, flowers are meant to be admired for only a short time, a metaphor for how beautiful, delicate things are meant to be seen by the eyes for just a brief moment.

He loved them anyway. Will lost count of how many flower crowns he made during his childhood. He would make and unmake them in a single afternoon, or leave them behind in the woods, again, because of Lonnie. But he liked to imagine a fairy finding one and taking it to her kingdom.

As he grew up, everything around Will told him he wasn't meant to like pretty things.

First, society. His own father, inside his own house. He was called many names when he barely knew how to write, and even though he didn't quite understand what they meant, he grasped the message: pretty things are for girls.

Then, his teenage years were a series of situations that only proved Will didn't deserve pretty things, and that the harder he tried to get close to them, the worse his punishment would be.

Even though Will has matured and learned to love who he is, even though he has built a life of acceptance and love, certain things still seem out of reach.

That is why he lives vicariously through Max.

“This one will look perfect on you!” he says, handing her a hanger with a lingerie set. Olive green with tiny white flowers.

It’s simple. Max doesn’t like ruffles or lace. Her choices are usually cotton, with prints and simple stitching.

Still, they’re beautiful. And she always counts on Will to help her choose.

“Oh, how cute!” Max takes the hanger from his hand and puts it in the bag, alongside the other pieces she’s already picked out.

The bond between Will and Max began during their senior year of high school. They had been friends before, of course. Will adored Max, but they had drifted apart when the tragedy struck: Will had left town, and when he returned, Max was in a coma.

It took her some time to recover and return to school, and when she finally did, she latched onto Will as if he were her best friend. At first, they bonded over their shared trauma. But then, Max awakened something in Will that he hadn’t even known he possessed — or, at least, hadn’t remembered.

A longing for femininity.

At first, it was hard for Will to come to terms with it. He fought against it, actually. Even though he was gay, and had already accepted that he was gay, Will was a boy. He is a boy. Will didn't know he could be anything other than that, anything more.

He had spent his whole life surrounded by boys he loved and learned with, his brother, his best friends. And the time he lived under the same roof as Jane was still his period of deepest denial. He loved being around Jane and talking to her, but he never allowed himself to truly be part of that world.

And not just because she was dating the love of his life, though that certainly played a part.

With Max, it was different. She challenged him, prodded him, and before he knew it, she was the one he was gushing to about boys, romance movies, and handsome celebrities. Sometimes he’d stutter and blush like crazy, but he gradually began to open up.

Today, Will understands more what he likes, and talking openly about anything comes naturally to him.

That’s why he’s here. Will is Max’s best friend, confidant, and personal lingerie shopper. He knows what she likes better than she does herself. And, above all, Will has an aesthetic sense that Max lacks.

Max will literally buy anything Will suggests.

“Oh,” Will whispers, running his fingers over the lace on the side of a pair of panties, his eyes tracing the garment as if it were a work of art.

It looks so soft. It’s a gentle shade of yellow, plain, with a little bow at the waistband. Sometimes, Will thinks it’s unfair that men’s underwear isn’t that pretty.

But maybe that’s just how things are. Pretty, soft things are for girls, after all.

It’s just that…

Well, the idea has been occurring to him lately, like an intrusive thought. Ever since the last time he was in a store like this with Max, a few months back, Will has started to wonder.

Sometimes he looks in the mirror and imagines how they’d look on him. How the fabric would cling to his curves. How the lace or ruffles would feel against his skin. And, more often than he likes to admit, the idea has been growing on him.

Will thinks that maybe, in low light or by moonlight, it would look good on him, too.

It’s not as if Will has never seen anything like it. Living in New York, he has literally seen it all. And he thinks it’s beautiful when men ignore society’s stupid rules and wear high heels, makeup, and ruffles or whatever.

But when it comes to himself… Well, Will hears his voice. Lonnie’s. And Will hates himself for it, because that guy is in the past. He doesn’t matter, he’s just a shadow of a time Will has already left behind. Still, he can’t help it.

While Max finishes her shopping, Will keeps drifting back to the yellow lace panties as if drawn to them. He looks at them and thinks that maybe, just maybe, they’d look really good on him.

“Do you like that one?” Max asks, making Will jump.

When he looks up, she is watching him with a knowing look.

“Yeah.” Will shrugs. “It’s cute.”

“It really is.” Max is inspecting the piece now.

“It’s not really your style,” he continues, looking away.

“No…” she agrees. “But that’s the third time I’ve caught you looking.”

“Is it?” Will walks toward the next aisle. “I hadn’t even noticed.”

That’s a lie, and Max knows it. And Will knows that Max knows it. But she says nothing, continuing down the aisle as if nothing happened.

That’s something he can’t do, because the yellow lace panties keep drawing his eyes wherever he is. What an inconvenience!

Will sighs, watching Max decide between two bras. What’s the worst that could happen if he just tried them on? Just to see how they’d look. The world wouldn’t end. No one even needs to know. Will could hide the piece at the bottom of his drawer if he didn’t like the result.

He could throw it away.

No, he’d never throw it away, it’s too pretty for that.

Anyway, he can put it on, see how it looks, and that’s that. Life will go on. He’ll still be himself.

Max is walking toward the checkout, so Will acts fast. He moves down the aisle, grabs the hanger with the panties, and, before he can run off, stops. He looks at the piece. At the lace and the little bow.

Then he puts it back. This is ridiculous. Why is his heart racing so fast? It’s just an article of clothing. God, he’s literally killed Demogorgons with his mind. There’s nothing scary about a pair of panties, for crying out loud!

He looks at it again, then glances around. His hand moves faster than his brain. He grabs it again and practically rushes over to Max. She’s placing her items on the counter.

“Max.”

“Yeah?” she says, distracted, glancing his way.

He holds the hanger up to her, feeling as though he’s coming out all over again — a mix of desperation and excitement the likes of which he can’t remember feeling in ages.

“Do you think I…” He stops.

“What?”

“I dunno. That I could buy this?”

Max blinks at him. “Sure.”

“For me?” His voice comes out low and uncertain, and Will hates himself for it all over again.

Max stops putting things on the counter. Her expression softens into something that looks like understanding. And maybe pride, if Will dares to go that far.

“Yeah, Will,” she says, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You can buy that for yourself.”

She takes the item from his hand and adds it to the pile forming on the counter.

“Max—”

“It’s a gift,” she says, and winks at him.

────୨ৎ────

They leave the store laughing, because Max wants a detailed report on the moment Will puts on the panties, and he says that not in a million years, though he admits he’ll say whether he likes them or not.

Will buys them ice cream on the way back, and they’re just about to part ways to head home when Will stops in the middle of the sidewalk, ice cream in one hand, the shopping bag in the other, feeling the ground drop out from under his feet.

“Oh my god.”

Max looks back, raising her eyebrows.

“What? What is it?”

“Mike.”

“What about Mike?”

“I forgot about him.”

Max’s eyes go wide. “I never thought I’d hear these words come out of your mouth.” She scoffs and looks around. “Actually, please, never say that again. If Mike heard, he’d literally have a breakdown.”

“Max, what is he going to think?”

It takes a second for Max to realize what Will is talking about, and she scoffs again.

“You’re kidding, right?” She frowns. “He’s going to lose his mind.”

“No, Max, you don’t understand. I mean, I should have talked to him first, right? Because... because he has no idea...”

“Will, wait. Listen to me.” Max pulls Will by the wrist to the edge of the sidewalk, into the shade of an awning. “Mike is your boyfriend, I get it. But this is about you. It doesn’t matter if he’s interested or not.”

“But… he likes me.” Will says in a voice so small he can feel the uncertainty. “He— he likes Will. Who’s a guy. Who wears… who wears men’s underwear. And not— what if he doesn’t like— what if he thinks I—”

Will doesn’t even finish the sentence. He knows he sounds pathetic and desperate, but it’s just… he’d really forgotten about Mike for a moment. And he remembers what it was like when Mike came out and confessed his feelings to him. How Mike made it clear he wasn’t into women.

Granted, it took Will a while to believe it, so maybe Mike had exaggerated a bit about not even being able to imagine himself with a woman, that the idea repulsed him, but still… what if he sees Will wearing lace panties and then… doesn’t want Will anymore? Doesn’t desire him anymore?

This is so embarrassing, oh my god!

“Will, you know I’m always giving Mike a hard time, but even a rock could tell how crazy he is about you. I’m sure that even if you showed up with a dick tattooed right in the middle of your forehead, he’d still think you’re the most beautiful guy in the world.”

Will is so distraught he can’t even laugh.

“Do you think you can return it? Or exchange it for something for yourself?”

“What? No. No, I’m not exchanging it. Are you seriously rejecting my gift, William Byers? That’s so rude.”

But Will isn’t even listening. He is suddenly terrified by the idea of Mike not liking every version of him. What if he changes over time? What if he learns more about himself as he gets older, and this new Will isn’t someone Mike loves? What if they become so different that they decide it’s best to part ways?

“Oh my god, are you crying?” Max’s voice goes up an octave. She stops in front of Will, gripping his shoulders. “Will! Come on! It’s just a piece of clothing. Mike loves you.”

“I know,” he says. “I know, Max. But it’s not just… it’s not just a piece of clothing, it’s… it’s something more. It’s like I’m changing. And what if— damn it, Max, what if he doesn’t recognize me anymore?”

Max bites her lower lip, looking thoughtful. She studies Will with a different expression, as if analyzing him, and then she smiles.

“Will. You are the kindest, most loyal, and most empathetic person I’ve ever met, but you're so dumb! Are we talking about the same Mike? Mike Wheeler? Mike ‘This Whole Town Is Not the Same Without You’ Wheeler? Mike ‘There Is Nothing and No One Above My Perfect Boyfriend Will Byers’ Wheeler?”

Will rolls his eyes, but a small smile plays on his lips.

“You don’t think he’ll freak out?”

“Oh, believe me, he will.” Max taps his shoulder twice, smirking. “Just not the way you’re expecting.”

────୨ৎ────

When Will gets home, Mike is in the kitchen. He’s gotten into the habit lately. Every day off is a day for Mike to be in the kitchen. He tests out recipes from various cookbooks, and even though they never turn out exactly right, they’re still tasty. Will isn’t complaining.

“Mike, I’m home.”

He leaves his sneakers by the door and tries to make a beeline for the bedroom to hide the bag before Mike sees it. But, of course, he gets intercepted in the hallway.

“What do you mean, walking past without giving me a hello kiss?”

Mike wraps his arms around Will’s waist, and Will meets his lips.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hello,” Mike repeats, eyes closed. He kisses Will again. “How’s Max?”

“She’s good. Cussed out about three drivers on the way.”

“Good. Always good to know she’s operating at peak performance.”

“She invited us over for pizza next week.”

“Is she paying?” Mike raises an eyebrow.

Will frowns. “Probably Lucas.”

Mike shrugs. “I’m cool with that.”

Will smiles. “Silly.”

“Dork.”

“Cutie.”

“Beautiful.”

Mike kisses him again, and Will melts.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Mike asks against his lips. “Did you buy something for yourself?”

Will tenses up again. For a moment, he’d forgotten about the lace panties.

He pulls away from Mike’s embrace and walks toward the kitchen, trying to buy some time.

“What are you cooking?”

“Potatoes. They’re in the oven.” Mike follows him, his brows now furrowed. “Will. Did you buy anything for yourself?”

Will sighs. He bites the corner of his mouth. Looks at the bag.

“Yeah. Um.” He licks his lips. “Yeah, I bought something for myself.”

Silence. Mike tilts his head.

“Okay. And what is it?”

“Um. You might think it’s weird. And it’s okay if you do, okay? It’s not like— I didn’t buy it, um, for you… specifically. It’s for me. And maybe I won’t even like it, so you don’t have to worry because I’d never force something on you— even if I do like it, actually, it wouldn’t turn into my whole identity or anything, you know? So, like, you wouldn’t even need to know because, deep down, it’s about… me.”

Mike looks stunned. For a brief moment, he stares at Will, his lips parted and a crease forming on his forehead.

“Will. I have no idea what you’re talking about, but… sure. I mean, I know you wouldn’t force anything and… well, I don’t even know what we’re talking about, but I wouldn’t mind if whatever this is turned into your whole identity—” Mike stops, grimacing at himself. “Why are we talking in riddles?”

A nervous laugh escapes Will. “Sorry. My fault. I’m… nervous, I guess?”

One corner of Mike’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and then he steps closer, pinning Will against the counter.

“Are you going to show me what it is? Because I’m kinda nervous now, too.”

“Sorry,” Will says again, biting his lower lip. Mike kisses the corner of his mouth. “It’s a… um, a…”

Oh, whatever!

Will pulls the lace panties out of the bag and holds them up at Mike’s eye level with the most apologetic expression imaginable — something absurd, yet he can’t help it.

He feels Mike’s body stiffen against his, and Mike pulls back slightly to get a better look at the scene before him. Will imagines what it looks like: himself, red as a beet, holding the tiniest piece of clothing he’s ever owned.

Mike’s pupils look visibly dilated, and Will watches with a certain delight as the color rises in Mike’s cheeks. He blushes gradually, the flush spreading from his cheeks down to his neck. Will kind of wants to bite him.

“Oh,” escapes Mike’s parted lips.

Will almost feels stupid for having worried earlier, he almost lets himself imagine that Mike might actually like the picture forming in his mind. Until Mike shifts his gaze to the counter, avoiding Will's eyes.

So maybe Mike isn’t just flustered. Maybe he’s mortified.

“Oh,” Mike repeats, more firmly this time.

Will feels such a rush of blood to his face that it gives him a headache.

“Mike. I— I meant it, this doesn’t change anything, it’s just— I was just curious, it’s—” Will looks at the garment in his hand. Still pretty, still soft, but a little more terrifying now. “It was stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

“Will, hey, no. I’m sorry. I just—” Mike giggles, turning even redder. “Sorry. My brain stopped working for a few seconds. Uh.” He clears his throat and holds Will by the waist. His voice is soft when he speaks again. “Baby. Do you like that?”

“Um… yeah? I mean, I’m not sure.” Will looks at Mike, then at the panties still in his hand. “They’re pretty.”

“Pretty, yeah,” Mike says, but when Will looks at him, Mike isn’t looking at the panties at all.

Will feels something warm spreading through his chest.

“Uh— are you going to…” Mike starts, not quite meeting Will’s eyes. “Are you going to try them on?”

Oh, right! The whole point of this situation, which Will had suddenly forgotten.

And yes, he really wants to.

“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, I will try them on.”

Mike’s smile matches his own, and Will feels so giddy it’s almost ridiculous.

“Okay.” Mike gives him a look, one that quickly sweeps over as much of Will as he can see from being so close. “Okay, yeah. And if— I dunno, if you like them… maybe… you could show me?”

Oh, it’s hot in here. Hot all over. Will feels like he’s going to melt right there in the kitchen.

“Um. Yeah. I guess so. If you— I mean, do you wanna see?”

Mike nods several times, looking serious. “Yeah. Oh, yeah, yeah, I wanna see. But only if… you wanna show me.”

“Okay,” Will says, now really wanting to look good in them.

────୨ৎ────

“Okay, Will, it’s just underwear. It's just clothing. You’re just trying it on. No big deal.” Will whispers to himself in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom. “You can do this.”

He takes off his t-shirt and then the baggy jeans he was wearing, standing there in just his boxers and socks.

It’s okay. The boxers, he means. Comfortable. It does the job. Will would even go so far as to say he feels good in them — in the most ordinary sense of the word.

But they aren’t pretty. Not exactly.

And Will feels it again, the way his face heats up and he doesn’t want to look in the mirror. The pair of panties tossed on the bed looks like a weapon, a clue at a crime scene.

“Jesus Christ, get a grip!” he tells himself. “There is literally no one here. For god’s sake.”

Will takes off his boxers then, looking at his body in a different way. I mean, he’s always looking at his body — when he changes clothes, or showers, or checks to make sure everything is okay with himself. But it’s usually automatic, a routine act.

Now, he’s really looking. And after so many years of not being able to feel good in his own skin, Will knows. He knows that he is… pretty. He knew it when other guys hit on him in college or at the club, and he knows it because of Mike, who doesn’t go a day (or even a few hours) without saying how beautiful Will is.

But now he knows it for himself — with a small smile playing on his lips — that he is pretty. Everything is in the right place, and it all harmonizes.

Will is grateful for his body, for everything it has survived, for the fact that it works just fine. And, for once, he doesn't feel like he has to apologize for also liking the way it looks.

Without overthinking it (much more than he already has), Will pulls on the panties. Simple as that. One leg, then the other, then up and up until the waistband settles against his hip bones.

And then he just stands there, staring. Will runs a finger over the lace at the side, amazed.

He was right. It really is soft.

Will makes a face at his reflection and then, yeah, he needs to adjust his dick. It’s a small garment, very small, so it just sits there looking up, the tip peeking out right where the little bow sits.

And okay, it’s kind of funny. Is there where his dick is supposed to go?

“Of course— where else would you put it, dumbass?”

Okay. Inhale and exhale, relax the shoulders. It seemed weird at first, but now Will is kind of freaking out.

It’s so absurdly cute.

Like, seriously?

Girls are cute like this all the time, it’s so unfair!

Will turns around and looks over his shoulder, staring at his own ass in the mirror and… whoa. Wow. Okay, yeah, Mike definitely has to see this.

He spends a few more minutes there, admiring his own body, feeling how nice and snug the fabric is against his skin, seeing how good he looks.

How pretty he feels.

And, of course, Will feels tears welling up in his eyes again.

He feels so pretty. It’s absurd.

Snatching one of Mike’s oversized t-shirts, Will takes one last deep breath in front of the mirror, taking a moment to fix his hair, before heading over to show his boyfriend this new version of himself.

────୨ৎ────

Mike is sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, but Will knows he isn't paying the slightest bit of attention. It’s a wildlife documentary showing the sleeping habits of a bison.

Will presses his lips together to keep from laughing and tiptoes over to where Mike is sitting.

Is it lame that he feels so sexy? Like, with his hair intentionally tousled, in his boyfriend’s oversized t-shirt, lace panties, and socks, Will feels kind of unstoppable. Like he’s glowing from the inside out.

Mike looks up at him the moment he appears in the living room, his cheeks still flushed. He shifts on the sofa, squaring his shoulders.

The choice of t-shirt was deliberate: it reaches the middle of Will’s thighs, preserving the mystery.

“So,” Mike says, trying and failing to keep his eyes on Will’s face. “Did you like it?”

Will bites his lower lip, trying to contain his own excitement.

“Mhmm. I liked it.”

Mike takes a deep breath. “Right.”

“Do you wanna see?”

“Do you wanna show me?”

“Dork.” Will chuckles.

He walks slowly until he’s standing between Mike’s legs. Mike lifts his hands to Will’s hips, resting them over the t-shirt.

“Hi,” he says, looking up at Will through his lashes.

“Hi.” Will runs his hand through Mike’s hair, pushing the curls back. “Whenever you want.”

“I’m kind of nervous.”

“Mike!”

“What? I am.” He laughs, resting his chin on Will’s stomach and looking up. “I’m never prepared for you. It’s always a surprise.”

“Shut up.”

Mike pouts, but then Will feels his hands tracing a path up his thighs, lifting the t-shirt as they go. He leans back as he pulls the hem up to Will's stomach. Will holds it there with his own hands so Mike can get a good look.

Once again, Mike is left speechless, just staring. His eyes darken, and his breath seems to catch in his throat. He keeps his hands on Will’s waist, near the waistband, squeezing gently.

“Oh my god, baby,” he breathes, letting his forehead drop against Will’s hip bone. He whimpers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Will chuckles, gripping his t-shirt so tightly his fingers ache.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Mike asks, his voice high-pitched. He lifts his head again. “What do I think? Will! Oh my god, you’re— you just— you can’t just— I can’t even— Will!”

“I’m gonna assume you liked it.”

“Well, yeah. Obviously. How could I not…” He sighs, looking at Will again, pulling back further to take in the whole picture. “It’s just so… wow. Just… damn, Will. You look so— so fucking— Jesus! So beautiful.”

He says it like it's a bad thing and Will is laughing again, feeling an overwhelming urge to sit on Mike’s lap and cover his face with kisses. He’s so flushed and hot he feels like he might explode.

“I’m glad you liked it. I liked it too.”

“Of course you liked it, how could you not…?” Mike runs his hands over his face, trying to compose himself. “Can you, um...? Turn around?”

Will knew that question was coming. That doesn’t stop him from glancing up at the ceiling, embarrassed.

He turns around, anyway.

“Fuck, baby,” Mike groans behind him, and when Will glances over his shoulder, his boyfriend is slumped back against the sofa, his head resting on the cushion, looking just as flushed as he is. “I think— wait, there’s something… there’s something seriously wrong with me! I think you’ve given me brain damage.”

“You're so dramatic, Mike!”

Laughing, Will turns back to him, and Mike immediately wraps his arms around Will’s waist, kissing his navel.

“I’m speechless, baby. There's no words... ‘stunning’ doesn’t even come close.”

“Thanks,” Will says, a lump forming in his throat. He moves to climb onto Mike’s lap, and Mike readily makes room for him. “I was… scared of your reaction, I guess.”

“Did you think I was going to start barking or something?” Mike asks, fitting Will’s body against his own and letting his hand rest on Will’s thighs. “Because I won’t lie— I came pretty close.”

“No, you goof. I thought…” Will trails off. “I dunno. It was silly.”

“Nothing you think is silly.”

Will sighs, burying his face in the crook of Mike’s neck.

“I thought you wouldn’t like it. You know? Something stupid. Like, you like me in my boxers, right? And then… this is pretty different.”

“Will, I’d probably like you even in a chastity belt. In fact, I'm pretty sure I’ll still like you even when you’re wearing diapers and you yell at me because I didn’t clean you properly." Will rolls his eyes but laughs, and Mike joins in.

Mike cups Will’s face, tilting it up just enough to look into his eyes. “I love you. I’ve loved you since forever. I’ve watched you grow up, Will, and change so many times. I love watching you change, and seeing how, every time, you become even more you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Will whispers. “That’s so sweet, Mike.”

“Yeah, I’m such a loverboy.” He rolls his eyes affectionately.

“I love you, too. And all the versions of you.”

“Even my Strahd Von Zarovich impression?”

“Especially your Strahd Von Zarovich impression! I’m crazy about him.”

“Hmm, really?” Mike plants a kiss on Will’s lips, then on his chin and jawline. “Want me to go get my fangs?”

Will tangles his fingers in Mike’s hair, giving a gentle tug to look at him, and thinks for a moment.

“Mm, no. I don’t think so,” he says, pressing his body even closer to Mike’s, feeling Mike’s fingers tracing the lace of his panties against his skin. “I think right now, I just want you.”

Will kisses him. And even though he feels the heat of Mike’s body against his own and knows how much Mike wants him right now, the kiss is sweet. It’s filled with affection and love and that crazy feeling that this is his destination — that this is exactly where he's meant to be, and where he’ll be forever.

Nothing has really changed. Will is still the same. He’s still a boy who makes art, who likes playing video games and watching horror movies, who spends most of his weekends laughing with his best friends about stupid things, who loves his boyfriend with everything inside him, and then some, who has fun buying lingerie with his best girl friend, and who can’t help but find beauty wherever he looks.

He’s always liked pretty things. Now, he finally understands that pretty things were meant for him, too.