bylersecretsanta2023

[bylersecretsanta2023]

for @ringsandbracelets !!

i fucking love this omg

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from a secret someone, to @punkhandheldcheesegrater

Remember This Moment

a very sweet, kinda bittersweet chrismukkah ficlet featuring mike wheeler, will wheeler, and their two year old daughter, joan

Shreds of russett potato fell into a bowl from the grater that rested across it. The potato in question was being vigorously pushed and pulled back and forth across the surface of the grater in a strong grip, belonging to one William Wheeler. But the hand was quickly losing momentum as the potato got smaller and smaller, losing its initial mass. Seconds later, he lost his grip on the potato, and it fell to the floor with a thud. He groaned in frustration as he picked up the scrap and threw it out while behind him, a pair of little hands clapped with joy. Well, at least one person in the house was having a good time.

His daughter, Joan, sat in her high chair with her giant crayola markers and a few sheets of printer paper, but was obviously more entertained by her father’s failure. He turned around after grabbing a paper towel, wiping the starchy potato juice off his forearms and sauntering over to where Joan sat. She giggled and reached up to him with grabby hands, and he picked her up, settling her on his right hip. He carried her over to the counter, showing her his sad attempt at latkes he was working on.

When he and Mike first started looking into adoption, the question was constantly brought up as to which religion their future child would be raised in, if any at all. Both of them agreed, with Will being Jewish and Mike growing up Catholic, that they wouldn’t limit or compromise the traditions of the other. Ever since they got together (and even before that, honestly), they spent their Decembers celebrating both Hanukkah and Christmas. And this was Will’s first time trying to make his mom’s famous latke recipe.

“See, Jetti Spaghetti,” he began, calling her by the ridiculous nickname that he’d made up– and that his husband objected to every time it was uttered in his presence– inspired by the one and only Joan Jett. “These are potatoes. Can you say, ‘potato’?”

“Po-yay-yo,” Joan repeated in toddler speak, and Will laughed heartily as he picked one up and let her hold it with a glimmer of fascination in her brown eyes.

“Not quite, but you’re getting there. Kind of.”

“She’s barely two, give her a break,” his husband laughed from where he stood in the doorway. Will had no idea how long Mike had been standing there, but the dopey grin on his face led Will to believe that he’d seen the whole thing. Will set Joan back in her high chair as Mike crossed the kitchen to where he stood. He was still wearing his coat; he’d just come back from work. He leaned down, pressing a firm yet loving kiss to Will’s lips, brushing their noses together. “Hey, handsome.”

“Hey, yourself,” Will replied with a light smile. “You’re home early.”

“Well, the blizzard was getting bad, and I wasn’t about to get stuck in three feet of snow,” Mike sighed, shucking his coat off and tossing it onto one of the chairs next to him. He spun around then, sneaking up on Joan, who was fixated on her latest Marker Masterpiece™.

“Hey, Bug!” he exclaimed, and scooped the little girl up in his arms, kissing her face as she screeched, “Papa!” high pitched and happily. Mike missed his baby girl like crazy. Getting such a significant raise at his publishing job had been both a blessing and a curse; they were financially stable, but he felt like he was missing out. When he first became a parent, he’d been the one spending time at home, playing with her, preparing her meals and singing her custom-written lullabies. It all felt like so long ago. But Will’s job as an art teacher provided a more flexible, less time-consuming schedule that allowed him to spend more time with Joan.

“I’m so jealous you got a snow day, I missed this little munchkin,” he cooed, but his eyebrows suddenly furrowed in pain as Joan pulled roughly on his long hair, cackling as she did so. “God, this kid is really out to get me,” Mike feigned complaint and let Joan down, and the two watched their daughter toddle through the kitchen and out into her play corner in the living room.

Will turned back to the task at hand, grabbing a new potato and the peeler off of the counter. He felt Mike’s arms wrap around his middle and his chin resting on Will’s head. How was Will supposed to get anything done with a giraffe-koala hybrid clinging onto his back?

“Damn, baby, these look good already,” Mike hummed, and Will scoffed.

“They’re literally just shredded potatoes.”

“I stand by my statement,” Mike said, and his arms got tighter around Will’s torso, as if to hold him there until he believed what Mike was saying.

“They could turn out disgusting,” Will frowned, giving up for a moment and turning in Mike’s grip to face him, leaning against the counter.

Mike ran a hand up Will’s arm, over his shoulder, and up his neck before brushing some hair out of his face. “Will, you’re amazing at everything you do, don’t doubt yourself.” Will looked up at him then with teary eyes.

“I just wanted Hanukkah to feel somewhat normal this time, you know?”

Joyce’s absence weighed heavily on everyone’s minds last year; she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was gone within the year. She was only 57 years old. She never got to meet Joan, and that kept Will and Mike up at night. They missed her more than anything.

“I know,” Mike held back his own tears as he comforted Will, pulling him into his chest. “And you’re gonna make her proud. She was always proud of you, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” Will muttered into Mike’s (Will’s) worn flannel. They stood there for a moment, holding one another close. Eventually, Mike pulled back and held Will’s face between his large hands, making Will feel warm, safe, and so at home.

“You got a sec? I have something I want to give you.”

Will quirked an eyebrow, but nodded anyway. “Sure.”

Mike took off then, coming back to the kitchen a minute later with a small package in his hand. He had wrapped it in newspaper, so tightly that Will could observe its disc-like shape. He held it out to Will, who took it in his hands, looking confused.

“Mike… what is this?” he asked, and Mike shook his head.

“Just open it.”

And Will did. He ripped the newspaper to reveal an ornament. Like, an ornament that belonged on a Christmas tree. Except it was a small, circular frame made of clay, with a little menorah painted on one side, and a Christmas tree on the other. The lower part of the frame had the words Daddy, Papa, and Joan’s First Chrismukkah on the surface. And in the center of the frame was a photo of Mike and Will one year ago, huddled together on their couch with little Joan seated in between them. It was their first photo together as a family.

“Oh my…” Will put a hand to his mouth to muffle a sob, “Oh my god.”

“I know, it’s cheesy as fuck, but I just thought this would be a good time to remind you of what the holidays are all about– family,” Mike said, and Will just stood there, staring at the ornament in his hands, thinking about how lucky he was to have married such a sweet and thoughtful human being. “And that begins with traditions… like your mom’s latkes. She gave you that recipe because she knew you’d want something to remind you of her. And, like, maybe we could pass the recipe to Joan one day. I’m sorry, I’m kind of rambling, but I just want you to know that–”

Will cut off his husband’s next few words with a tearful, passionate kiss. “Michael. I love it. I love you. You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“I love you, too,” Mike kissed Will’s forehead.

“Daddy, why cwy?” they heard their daughter’s quiet voice ask from below, and Mike knelt down to her level.

“Daddy’s a little sad, Bug. He misses Grandma,” Mike explained, and Joan turned her head up to Will, lifting her small arms to hug his leg.

“I sowwy, Daddy. Gwannma-zin heaven.” Grandma’s in heaven. Will was going to melt. She was such a little empath. They’d taught her well.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Will smiled at Joan, then back up at Mike. “I was thinking you could ‘help’ me make these potato latkes. You can help me mix. How’s that sound, Jetti-Spaghetti?”

Mike playfully rolled his eyes at the nickname that had, surprisingly, been growing on him a little bit. Joan squealed with glee as her Papa lifted Joan onto the counter and handed her a wooden spoon to play with while her Daddy handled the rest of the potatoes.

And Will… let’s just say that Will Wheeler made some damn good latkes.

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @marshmallo824, to @dont-open-dead-inside-25

what are you doing new year's eve?

“Uh, no, Max, that’s actually not your best move. My pawn isn’t even close to your home base!”

There are only a couple more hours until 1989, and it looks like Mike Wheeler will be ringing in the New Year with copious amounts of vexation. It’s been a rough night for him, competitively speaking: he was first to go bankrupt in Monopoly, failed to break 200 in Yahtzee, and ended up with approximately half the deck by the end of Uno. 

Now, he’s red in the face and fuming over a particularly tense game of Sorry! – Max (the strategist of the operation, getting Lucas to actually move her pieces) has just knocked Mike’s last pawn back to Start. Dustin has a clear lead, though Max-and-Lucas are starting to catch up.

Will was supposed to be teaming with El, but he’s barely paying attention. Mike looks far too good tonight in a soft maroon sweater and black jeans, even if his facial expression is slightly…constipated. Sue him if he’s distracted, honestly. The Mike Wheeler Obsession™ that has sort of characterized all of Will’s teenage years certainly is following him into 1989. 

It also doesn’t help that the taller boy finally gave in to his mother’s complaints and got a haircut last week. The nostalgia had hit Will like a semi-truck when he’d first seen it – with shorter hair, he looks shockingly like he did when they were in eighth grade and Mike had been the only tolerable part of that fall’s flayed-and-fucked-up fever dream. 

“Do you like it?” Mike had asked quietly, maybe a little nervously.

Will frantically nodded, because the only words his mouth was capable of replying with were I love you I love you I love you Will you stay with me forever? and he was pretty sure that wouldn’t be the response Mike was hoping for.

In holding his tongue, Will was thoroughly rewarded with a bashful but earnest smile from Mike. “I guess I was kinda worried it would look a little stupid.”

“Not possible. You look great,” he blurted out, completely negating his success from mere seconds earlier. “I mean, it suits you.” It wasn’t the world’s best amendment, but it seemed to be enough.

“Hey, thanks, man. I mean it.” Will watched Mike tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, maybe out of habit, but it simply drifted back towards his face due to its new length. 

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year, Wheeler.” Max is grinning, which only seems to irritate Mike further. “Where’s the joy in your heart?”

“I’d be a lot more joyous if you’d play the fuckin’ game right, Mayfield. Dustin is gonna kick all our asses but for some reason you’d rather go after the guy with one pawn on the board? You’re insane, you know that? What a shitty strategy.”

Things escalate further from there, and rather quickly. Max is laughing as Lucas defends her, entering a vicious back-and-forth with Mike, while Dustin’s gaze darts excitedly between them like he’s at goddamn Wimbledon. El is explaining the scene to Max, and that only makes both girls laugh harder. Upon seeing this, Mike gets ramped up even more. As soon as he opens his mouth, Will can tell the other boy’s about to say something he’s really going to regret, so he puts a gentle hand on Mike’s shoulder, hoping it’ll slow his roll for even a second.

It works with almost disturbing efficacy. Mike’s teeth clack together audibly as he shuts his mouth, and he swivels to Will, suddenly and almost completely disengaged from the previous argument (if not for the exasperated furrow of his eyebrows and the exaggerated heaving of his chest). 

“Hey, you wanna take a break for a bit?” he finds himself saying, not letting go of Mike’s shoulder just yet. Mike, to his credit, nods sheepishly and stands. In the typical fashion of the Party, their other friends have already moved on, fully engaged in the remaining part of the game. El quirks her head at Will, eyeing Mike inconspicuously. 

You’ll take care of him?

I always do. I hope you win for us.

El grins at him, eyes glinting mischievously. I always do.

“I’m still not convinced you guys didn’t actually share a womb,” Dustin asserts, but Will’s already standing and following Mike out of the basement, leaving El to decide how to handle the biological twin allegations.

Upstairs, the Wheelers’ New Year’s Eve party is in full swing. The lilt of sociable adult laughter and the drone of the television drift through warmly-lit and stately rooms. Mike still looks wound-up, and maybe even a little discouraged. Will’s not having it, and he gets on his tiptoes to reach Mike’s ear.

“Follow my lead,” he whispers, and tugs a visibly confused Mike into the living room, where Mr. Wheeler looks about five minutes away from sleeping through the New Year altogether. There’s an empty champagne glass in his hand.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Wheeler,” Will beams, offering the man the firmest handshake he can muster. 

“William, it’s good to see you,” Ted drawls, eyes already drooping with exhaustion. “Could you take this glass to my wife in the kitchen?”

“Sure, should I ask her to refill it?”

He waves a hand dismissively and leans back further in the La-Z-Boy. “Don’t think I could have another. You’re a good young man, you hear that? Maybe it’s not too late for you to rub off on Michael. He could stand to have some more manners.”

“Dad, I’m right here,” Mike sighs. Normally, it’d be pretty funny, but he’s already stressed enough as it is, and Will can hear the strain in his voice from keeping it together. Ted blinks lazily and turns his head, nodding at his son.

“Excellent,” he murmurs, and dozes off. Mike rolls his eyes and takes the glass out of his dad’s hands. As the two make their way to the kitchen, which is currently heavily packed with mothers, Will deftly takes it out of his hands. Karen Wheeler is currently engaged in conversation with Claudia Henderson. They both seem to be walking the fine line between wine-drunk and…wine-plastered. Score.

“Mrs. Wheeler? Mr. Wheeler asked me to bring this to you.”

Karen doesn’t even ask, just automatically fetches the bottle of champagne. “I expected that,” she murmurs with a conspiratorial wink. “Every year, Ted makes his way to his last glass by ten o’clock sharp.”

The clock reads 11:37, but Will doesn’t point this out.

“Are you boys having a nice time?” Mrs. Henderson asks, almost as if she’s just realized they’re here. Mike nods quickly, but Will’s going for his Academy Award. He schools his face into a concerned but polite frown.

“You know how kids can be,” he sighs, a little wistful. Karen finishes (rather generously) filling the glass and perks up at this, maternal instincts kicking into gear despite the effects of her revelry.

She seems to notice something in Mike’s expression and reaches up to hold his face with her hands. Mike shoots a panicked look at Will, which shifts to annoyance upon receiving Will’s shit-eating grin.

“They take advantage of his enthusiasm, Mrs. Wheeler,” Will laments, overselling it just because he knows he can. “He’s just too earnest for this cruel and unfeeling world.”

Karen clicks her tongue sadly. “How perceptive! You know, I’ve always said that, Will.” She wraps Mike in a tight hug. “Oh, my bright boy. Never let them put your flame out.”

“Okay, Mom,” Mike placates, awkwardly wrenching himself out of her grasp. 

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Wheeler,” Will beams, and she’s too moved by Whatever Just Happened to take notice of him dragging Mike up the stairs instead of back into the living room.

They quietly slip into Mike's bedroom and shut the door, entirely unnoticed.

“I can’t believe you stole champagne from my mom, dude,” Mike remarks, amazement clear in his tone. Will flushes with embarrassment and maybe even pride.

“I didn’t steal it, Mike. She gave it to us, remember? Besides, it’s only one glass.” He hands said glass to Mike. “It’s not like I snagged us the whole bottle.”

Mike wastes no time in taking his first sip. Pathetically, Will thinks he could get drunk just off of the way Mike’s throat bobs as he swallows the golden liquid. Without needing words, the two sit side by side on Mike’s bed; Mike passes the glass back over, and Will holds it carefully. He rotates it, aiming for a casual movement, until the part Mike’s mouth has touched is furthest from him. He drinks – it’s fruity, but clearly not strong. The scandal of it all is probably more exciting than actually getting drunk tonight, anyhow.

“Do you think I have cooties or something?” Mike asks, and Will turns to meet his eyes. 

“Um. No?”

Mike considers this. “Do you have cooties or something?” 

Will shakes his head, a little amused, but mostly baffled. Mike chuckles, but he sounds slightly exasperated. When they exchange the glass once more, Mike doesn’t turn the glass, drinking from the exact place as Will had. He shoots a lopsided grin at Will. “If you give me mono, I’m gonna be pissed off.”

Will giggles, taken aback. “Hey, you can’t say I didn’t try.”

One glass of champagne later, and they’re both nowhere near drunk, but Mike seems a hell of a lot calmer than he had been before they got up to his room. He hasn’t stopped smiling since his fourth sip, and Will swears he’s somehow inched closer every time they passed the glass between them.

“Hey, you wanna hear something?” Mike asks, but he’s already getting off the bed and crossing to the other side of the room, so Will doesn’t bother replying. When he comes back around, he’s holding his acoustic guitar. It’s something Mike could barely bring himself to touch after Eddie, but he’s coming around to it again. Will’s embarrassingly endeared at the sight of the instrument in his lovely hands, wishing for one idiotic and deranged moment that Mike could hold him with that amount of tenderness and care. 

What follows is maybe the most enthralling rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” that Will has ever heard. Sure, not every chord is spot-on (particularly when he’ll accidentally catch on a string that isn’t meant to be used), but Mike’s voice is so raspy and beautiful, and his eyes are narrowed with intense concentration. When he’s done, Mike sets the guitar aside and meets Will’s gaze, smiling sheepishly.

“It needs some practice, I know, but I only started learning it after Christmas, so I didn’t really have –”

“I like you.”

It slips out entirely without his permission. “I mean,” he immediately backtracks, “I mean, I thought you did great. Seriously, nice job, man.” The casual form of address feels clunky in his mouth, but he’s desperate to cast off as much suspicion as possible. Maybe Mike will let it go?

“You like me?” 

When the two of them were younger, maybe in fourth or fifth grade, they’d both gone through a Greek mythology phase. As a result, Will’s well-versed with the concept of the tragic heroes and their fatal flaws – like hubris, or what have you. Mike’s fatal flaw is his persistence. Of course he wasn’t going to let it go; the ability to do something like that isn’t even in his skillset. 

And Will – Will’s fatal flaw is that he’s a really fucking bad liar.

“Yeah, I do. I have for a while. I’m sorry.”

Mike’s silent for a while, eyes wide and vulnerable as they search every corner of Will’s face. He blinks a few times, mouth hanging open slightly. Will looks down at his lap, tasting bile and champagne rising in his throat. He swallows it down.

“Do you wanna be my midnight kiss?”

Will nearly breaks his neck with the speed at which he turns to look at Mike. “What?”

“I said, do you wanna be my midnight kiss? You know, that thing that people do? On New Year’s Eve?”

“Mike,” he pleads, confused and a little panicked, “what are you talking about? You don’t – you don’t like me like that. Don’t do this for my sake, that’s just stupid –”

“Who said it’s just for your sake?” Mike snaps, a little frustrated. He softens a little, probably realizing how insane he sounds right now. “Listen, I – I mean, I’m…surprised. I don’t really know if I thought about us like that before. Maybe I didn’t let myself even go there, like, uh, mentally? But I feel –” and he places a hand against his own ribs – “happy, y’know? Giddy, almost.” 

Mike leans into Will’s personal space a little intensely. “And don’t you dare try to let me off by saying we’re drunk, because you and I both know we didn’t have enough for that.” Will shrugs, conceding before he can even begin to fight that battle. 

“I don’t get it,” he admits, trying not to sound as pathetic, needy, and utterly lost as he feels. Mike just grins at him, all boyish charm and eager humility.

“You make me smile. I like taking care of you, and you take care of me too. We understand each other – I mean, sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who really knows me, and you still like me? That’s – I mean, I can’t even wrap my head around that.”

“Why? You’re an incredible person,” Will protests, flushing with embarrassment as he does so. Mike’s smile gets even wider, somehow. He wrings his hands together as his leg begins to bounce, seemingly of his own accord.

“Do you know how fucking excited it makes me when you say shit like that? Feels like I could run a whole marathon, and dude, you know how much I hate running. I can’t believe I used to think you just made me nervous! How stupid is that? I guess I always thought being close to you – was dangerous, or something, like I was going to hurt you again. And I do still worry about that sometimes,” he adds, suddenly serious, “but that definitely doesn’t explain the butterflies.”

“Butterflies?” Will asks, incredulous. He’s not fully convinced this is real. Mike laughs, tipping his head back, well and truly cackling as if he can’t contain the joy he’s feeling.

“Yes! Butterflies! I’m so stupid, seriously, Will. I used to do stuff like – like keeping track of how much you smiled when we’d hang out with our friends, or trying to figure out what exactly it was that made you smell so nice on a given day, or wanting to be…to be close to you, just to hold you. And I guess I thought I was just being an attentive friend, but now that I know – I mean, of course I like you! How could I not like you, Will?”

Will thinks he might actually burst into tears right here in Mike’s bedroom, which is definitely a mood killer. By some miracle, he refrains.

“And don’t even get me started,” Mike continues, a little breathless in his excitement, “on what it does to me when I think about kissing you. Shit, I really want to kiss you. Can I kiss you, please?”

Will swallows, tries not to think too hard about the surreal bizarro world he’s suddenly found himself in. He takes a deep breath and looks down at his watch. “Hmm, I don’t know. Doesn’t look like it’s midnight yet.”

Despite the fact that Mike has a fully functional watch of his own, he leans even closer to Will anyways, peering down at his watch. “Well, what am I supposed to do for the next…forty-seven seconds?” Will just smiles at Mike, tipping his head forward until their foreheads are touching, and letting himself finally run a hand through his best friend’s soft, short waves.

“Be patient, loverboy,” he croons, earning a playfully indignant scoff from Mike. “Something tells me you’re gonna get kissed a lot next year.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. Consider it my resolution,” Will breathes out.

When midnight comes and their lips finally meet, it’s like a billion fireworks have gone off all at once.

(Later on, after they’ve exchanged kisses to the point of putting their lungs entirely out of commission, the two of them crawl under the covers and cling to each other. They feign some excuse like body heat, but there’s no point in disguising any of it. They know.

And if Will, overwhelmed with joy at the feeling of Mike snoring gently against his shoulder, whispers “Happy fucking New Year,” into the open air…well, then. No one has to know, do they?)

[bylersecretsanta2023]

Considering that it's the 15th, here is a reminder for everyone to make sure each person has given and gotten a gift

@afterglowsssss to @iamtheoneandonlyever

@unsurebisexualcore to @conanssummerchild

@punkhandheldcheesegrater to @mikebabygirlqueerler

@thatonebylershipper to @cowboylikewren

@autistic-katara to @kirjavafan

@the-bee-graveyard to @bylerspookie

@imactuallyreallycool to @weareladyparts

@qulizalfos to @sillylittlerock

@ringsandbracelets to @love-kurdt

@marshmallo824 to @dont-open-dead-inside-25

@rynns-traffic-cam to @willelworld

@willelworld to @marshmallo824

@dont-open-dead-inside-25 to @thatonebylershipper

@conanssummerchild to @qulizalfos

@bylerspookie to @the-bee-graveyard

@sillylittlerock to @unsurebisexualcore

@iamtheoneandonlyever to @imactuallyreallycool

@love-kurdt to @punkhandheldcheesegrater

@cowboylikewren to @ringsandbracelets

@mikebabygirlqueerler to @autistic-katara

@kirjavafan to @rynns-traffic-cam

@weareladyparts to @afterglowsssss

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @conanssummerchild, to @quilzalfos

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @autistic-katara, to @kirjavafan

Part 1:

1979

The final bell of the day at Hawkins Elementary, Mike couldn’t be happier. He’d been watching the clock for what felt like hours.

He walked out of school with his best friend, Will Byers, and they stood together as they waited for their moms to come pick them up.

“Hey… Mike?” He heard Will ask.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to come over tomorrow? It’s the first night of Chanukah, and my mom said I could invite you.”

“Sure,” Mike replied, “but what’s Chanukah?”

“It’s this holiday where we light some candles at night for eight days, my mom says it’s Jewish.” Will explained. “We haven’t celebrated it for years ‘cause of my dad but he’s not here this year so…” He trailed off. “But yeah, there’s food and music and from what I remember it’s really fun so do you wanna come?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll ask my mom later.” Mike answered.

Will grinned. “Cool!”

Just then Mike’s mom pulled up and Mike walked over to her.

“Oh! Also, Jonathan told me to ask you to ask Nancy if she wanted to come too!” Will called after him.

His mom said yes to him going over, with Nancy agreeing to come too. The next night their mom dropped the two of them off at the Byers’ house and they went inside, not sure what to expect.

The first thing that he noticed when he went inside was the smell of food. He couldn’t exactly place the smell, though it was sort of similar to when his mom made roast potatoes.

Joyce welcomed them inside, telling them to wait in the living room while she finished making something called “latkes”.

Mike hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it was the most fun he’d had in ages. They played this game where they spun a thing called a dreidel and bet chocolate coins. They ate donuts and the weird potato things called latkes (that tasted amazing with sour cream), and Joyce put on some lively music in a language Mike didn’t understand.

They sat around the table, a thing with nine candle holders, one candle on the far left and another on the slightly raised middle (Joyce had called it a “chanukiah”), standing in on it. Joyce lit the middle candle with a lighter and then used the lit candle to light the other.

When Mike asked why they lit the candles like that she had told them the story of the holiday. She talked about how the Greeks had invaded and were trying to destroy Jewish culture and religion, how a small army had driven the invaders away, but afterward they only had enough oil to keep their menorah (“like a chanukiah but bigger and with less candles” she’d explained) burning for a day, meanwhile it would take eight days to get more, but miraculously the small jug of oil had lasted them the whole time. It was why they lit candles for eight days, lighting one candle on day one (plus the “shamash” which Joyce said represented the oil) and lighting an extra one each night until on the last night all of the candles were lit.

When it was time to go home Mike really didn’t want to, he’d had so much fun. But Joyce had promised him he could come over another night during the holiday as well.

Mike went over for Chanukah almost every year. He didn’t go every night, but for at least one of them he would be there, lighting candles and playing dreidel.

That was, at least, until Chanukah 1985.

Part 2:

Mike sat in his bedroom, the clock beside his bed reading 1:05am. He should probably be asleep.

Instead, he was sitting at his desk writing.

Dear Will, I hope you’re having a nice night.

This week’s the first Chanukah in years that I’m not coming over to yours to celebrate, and I’ll be honest I never knew I’d miss it this much until we couldn’t do it.

He paused writing, debating on whether to try and draft the rest of the letter into something sendable or to let this delve into something else to add to his “unsent letters” pile.

I’ll be more honest, I didn’t know how much I’d miss you until you were gone. I wish you were back here and we could talk over a plate of your mom’s latkes or something. I know it’s stupid, but fuck it. It’s not like I’m going to send this anyway.

I half wish I’d told you that I love you last year. Maybe the rejection from that would’ve made this hurt less, or maybe in some alternate universe where you liked me back you wouldn’t have left.

I don’t know, stupid 1am thoughts. Sorry for writing this in a way where it’ll never reach you.

Love, Mike.

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @thatonebylershipper, to @cowboylikewren

Studying with Will Byers is one of Mike Wheeler’s most favorite pastimes. Will is always being adorable, making little quips about how much he hates his assignment or what should they do when they’re done doing homework or “Miiiiiiiike, are you almost doooooone?” because he wants someone to pay attention to him. He’s very cute-- not that Mike would ever say that to him, however, because that would be weird because they’re not dating or anything.

“Oh my god it’s snowing!” Will exclaims from somewhere above Mike. The latter turns and catches a glimpse of soft white flakes falling to the ground outside their dorm’s window. They’ve been awaiting snow for weeks; it’s been a very foggy, dreary winter up until now.

“MikeMikeMikeMikeMike can we go outside?” Will says excitedly.

“I don’t know, can we?” Mike says with a shit-eating grin because he is the World’s Most Annoying English Major To Exist Ever. Will rolls his eyes, used to Mike’s antics by now.

“Yes we can. May we go outside?”

“Absolutely.” Mike hauls himself to his feet and extends a hand to Will to help him off the bed. No one needs to know that Mike feels electricity jolt through his veins whenever he touches Will.

Will, as usual, does not put on enough layers, ready to go after only putting on a navy blue hoodie that looks suspiciously like Mike’s. Mike decides to let it go for once.

Upon stepping into the cold, Will runs out to the open stretch of pavement, arms stretched wide and tongue out to catch snowflakes in his mouth. Mike feels a warm blush creeping its way up his neck, reaching his cheeks in no time. He’s sure he looks like an idiot, smiling so hard his cheeks are aching, fondness for his best friend dripping from him like the honey that Will puts in his tea.

Mike feels like he might die, filled with so much endearment for his boy, when Will spins around and looks back at Mike, eyes bright and tufts of hair poking out messily from under his beanie like it always is. Mike wants to brush it out of his face.

“Come on!” Will calls. Mike laughs and takes off running to catch up with his best friend, who starts running as well and then it turns into a game of chase, Mike racing after Will. One of them is going to slip on the icy ground and eat shit.

Mike has the advantage of having freakishly long legs and is right on Will’s heels in no time. Will looks over his shoulder and yelps in surprise, not noticing a crooked brick in the sidewalk. His toe catches it and he stumbles, heading straight for the ground. Mike doesn’t think about his actions when he reaches out to grab Will’s bicep, spinning him around, and, not having the strength to counter their momentum, gets pulled right down on top of Will. Thankfully, he catches himself so he doesn’t completely crush Will, but now his arms are bracketing Will’s head.

Mike feels his breath catch. They both go quiet and stare at each other for a moment. It’s no one’s business but Mike’s if he glances at his best friend’s pretty pink lips, which are parted slightly in surprise.

“Heh, sorry,” Mike says breathlessly, shattering the moment (not that it was a moment, moments are for couples and they are not a couple) and rolling off of Will as quickly as he can. Surely his face is nearly crimson by now. God, how embarrassing.

“Um. It’s okay,” Will replies, also slightly out of breath. It’s probably from running. Will helps Mike to his feet and they continue with their walk like nothing happened.

Small things like this are always happening; moments of tension where Mike thinks they might be about to kiss. But then they never do and Will seemingly forgets about it immediately. But it’s fine because Will does not like him like that.

💛💙

The snow has melted by morning, something that Will is quite upset about, the disappointment on his face a clear indicator.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mike reassures him. “I’m sure it’ll snow again soon.”

Will nods, letting out a very dramatic sigh and flopping back onto his pillows, staring disdainfully at the ceiling for a moment before whipping out his phone to continue scrolling on whatever. Mike huffs out a laugh. Will is way over dramatic sometimes and it never fails to endear Mike and make him laugh.

They stay like that, in their own little bubbles for a while. Eventually, Will speaks up. “My head hurts,” and he sounds a bit congested when he says it. “Can you get me some ibuprofen?”

Mike never lets this opportunity go. Without missing a single beat, he responds  “I don’t know, can I?”

Will rolls his eyes, a tired smile stretching across his lips all the while. “Will you get me some ibuprofen?”

“Of course. Yeah you don’t sound so good.” Mike gets the thermometer as well because usually when Will is sick, it always comes with a fever, unfortunately. Will takes the pills in one hand, the glass of water in the other, and leans forward so Mike can take his temperature. Mike sucks in air through his teeth. “101. Yeah, you’re staying home for a bit, sorry.”

Will throws back the pills, grumbling all the while. “What am I supposed to doooo? I have to do that painting of my family and--”

“Stop,” Mike interrupts. Will falls quiet, scowling at nothing in particular. “You’re going to rest and you can do all that stuff that you’re thinking about when you’re better. Also I know that you’re sneaky so I am also going to stay here with you to make sure you don’t try to go to class.”

“What? No! Then you’ll miss your classes,” Will tries.

“It’s almost winter break, we’re not doing much. Plus my professor posts the notes on his website. It’s not that big a deal for me to stay here.”

“But--” Mike raises his eyebrows and folds his arms like the stubborn bitch he is. “Fine,” Will mumbles, seemingly trying to sink into his mattress.

“Thank you,” Mike says, probably sounding a lot more smug than he means to, taking Will’s glass back from him to put on his side table next to Mike’s own water glass.

That night, Mike goes out to get soup and cold medicine for Will, whose fever somehow went up throughout the day and who now looks significantly more weary, sweaty bangs and pink cheeks that Mike hadn’t noticed initially. They didn’t have the right stuff at their dorm so Mike had to go get the medicine that would work the fastest since Will really hates being sick.

“Thank you,” Will mumbles when Mike gets home and shows him his options. “You didn’t have to get more than one kind.”

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. I know you like having options.”

Will murmurs another “thank you” under his breath, picking the honey flavored nighttime medicine. He finds out very quickly that it does not taste great at all. It makes him drowsy almost instantly, however, so Mike counts it as a win.

“G’night, Mike,” Will says sleepily, once the lights are off. Mike feels himself smile, a warm feeling flooding his stomach.

“Goodnight, Will,” he replies softly into the darkness. Mike goes to sleep warm inside and without a care in the world, because across the room from him is the boy he loves.

💛💙

Mike is distracted from writing when his best friend lets out the most drawn-out, pathetic, congested groan he’s ever heard. He laughs, spinning in his chair to face Will. “What’s wrong?”

“Everythinggggg,” Will grumbles, burrowing deeper into his blankets. “Can you get me another tissue please?”

And because Mike is a bitch, he replies, with a stupid grin on his face, “I don’t know, can I?”

Will’s answering glare burns right through him but he laughs and stands up to get Will a tissue anyway. As Will blows his nose (dramatically loudly, in Mike’s opinion), Mike pushes his damp hair off his forehead to feel for a fever. “I don’t think you’re any warmer but you’re definitely not any cooler, sorry dude.”

“Don’t dude me,” Will says, still frowning. He’s always so grumpy when he’s sick, which yeah, checks out, but Mike thinks it’s adorable.

“Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t know,” Will pulls his blankets over his face. Mike laughs again, catching a glimpse of the window, on the outside of which snow is falling through the velvety black of the winter night sky.

“Ooo, it’s snowing again,” he tells Will. “I told you it would.” Will throws his blankets off and then seems to immediately regret it, shivering and pulling them back on top of him.

“You’re not going to let me go outside to take pictures, are you?” Will says flatly, sounding like he has no hope at all that Mike will let him, even though he’s asking anyway.

“Yeah, no,” Will glares again. “But,” Mike adds, “I could go take some for you.”

Will lights up. “Wait really?” Mike nods. “Oh that would be so great! You’re the best.”

“Of course,” Mike would do anything for Will, especially when it makes him smile like that, but Will doesn’t need to know that. Plus Will loves taking pictures of snow and since he’s bed-ridden with the flu, the least Mike can do is take some pictures for him.

In his haste to leave, Mike somehow forgets socks, shoes, and any sort of jacket or coat, so he’s hit all over with freezing air, goosebumps immediately rising on his arms. The snowy pavement is already numbing his feet as he makes his way to the streetlamp that Will always takes pictures of when it snows. It takes a couple minutes to find a good angle. Mike wants the pictures to be perfect for his best friend.

“Oh you idiot,” Will says when Mike finally returns, shivering. Mike raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t wear your fucking shoes or your fucking coat and now you probably have fucking frostbite because you’re an idiot what were you thinking?”

“I… forgot?” The word lilts up at the end like a question as though that could spare Mike from Will’s wrath. Will cocks a brow. He’s definitely not convinced. “Okay, okay, okay I’m sorry. I don’t have frostbite though.”

“Just--” Will cuts off, biting his bottom lip and seemingly considering something. “Come here.”

Mike freezes. “What?”

“Come here,” and to further express his words, he pulls the blankets back just enough for another person -- Mike -- to get in with him. Mike blinks. “You’re obviously cold and I’m way too warm. It just makes sense.”

Well Mike guesses he can’t argue with that. Plus, you know, cuddling with Will. True to his word, Will is way too warm and getting under the blankets where all his body heat has been trapped for hours, feels like a furnace. “Jesus christ, Will, are we sure your fever hasn’t gone up?” He presses a hand to Will’s pink cheek and Will flinches away.

“Jesus-- Are we sure you don’t have frostbite? Your hands are really cold.”

“I’m fine,” Mike feels like he’s being awkward, perched on the edge of the bed -- Will’s bed -- but he thinks if he gets any closer the butterflies that are erupting inside is abdomen right now might rise up to his chest and then he might start screaming, which is definitely not a preferable outcome to this situation.

“Get comfortable, you weirdo,” Will laughs, smirking at Mike. Mike must look like he has no idea what is happening because Will rolls his eyes and pulls Mike closer to him, throwing the blankets over them both. Okay so now they’re like, cuddling. That’s cool. (It’s not. Mike is going to die.) “There’s no need to be so stiff,” Will remarks, still smirking that stupid smug little smirk. “I promise I don't bite.”

Mike rolls his eyes, trying to force himself to think coherent thoughts, a task that is becoming increasingly more difficult, due to the breath-taking proximity of Will Byers. In retaliation for unintentionally making Mike so flustered, Mike sticks his numb feet under Will’s bare calves. “Mike!” he squeaks, pulling his knees up. He pokes Mike’s shoulder. “You’re an idiot, how did you forget socks and shoes? You had literally just said that it was snowing and then you went outside in sweats and a t-shirt with no shoes. Dork,” he adds, poking Mike again.

“I don’t know, I am capable of many things,” Mike says, trying to touch Will with his cold feet again. “And it’s your own fault for wearing shorts.”

“Freak,” Will says, grinning all the while. “Can I see the pictures?”

“Oh yeah!” Mike leans to the side to take his phone out of his pocket. Will already knows his password, so he’s not self-conscious when he types it out to unlock the screen. 

“Oh wow,” Will breathes. “Those are beautiful, Mike.”

“I did my best,” Mike says proudly, swiping through the multiple pictures he took of the streetlamp, icy flakes swirling around in the yellow light.

“You did a great job, thank you so much,” Will manages before breaking off into a coughing fit. He pitches forward with the force of it and Mike winces out of sympathy, rubbing Will’s back.

“Yeah, let's get some medicine in you and then you need to sleep,” Mike says, sliding out of Will’s bed when the coughing stops. He misses the warmth immediately, feeling extra cold in the places where he and Will were pressed together.

“Fine,” Will grumbles, but it sounds more like “find”.

“Do you want the honey flavored one or the blue one,” Mike asks, digging through the basket on his desk; he’s just been leaving it out since Will needs different medicine for night and day and he likes having the choice to pick which flavor he wants, even though all of it is gross.

“Um… blue,” Will says miserably, sniffling. He sits up when Mike brings it to him and chokes it down with a grimace, poking his tongue out in disgust. He accepts the glass of water Mike holds out to him with a grateful smile.

Mike goes to get in his own bed but halts when Will speaks. “Mike?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you…” he hesitates. Mike turns around to look at him.

“Can I what?” he says softly.

“Can you stay with me?”

Mike holds in his stupid joke this one time. His crossed arms fall to his sides and he lets a warm smile cross his face. “I’m not going anywhere, ya goob.”

Will’s feverishly pink cheeks seem to get a shade darker as he looks down at his fidgeting hands and says, “Yeah but… over here.” He pats the spot on the bed where Mike had been just minutes ago. Mike blinks.

“Uh-- sure, yeah,” Smooth, Wheeler, he thinks, cringing internally. Will smiles and scoots over to make room for Mike, not noticing (or maybe he did notice and he’s just being nice to Mike) Mike’s awkwardness. Will grabs Mike again and pulls him close enough that Mike’s right arm is squished and he doesn’t know what to do about it. “Um, Will, my arm is a little… stuck.”

“Oh, sorry,” Will moves a little bit and Mike pulls his arm out but now it’s just hovering above them and he doesn’t know where to put it. Will laughs. “Mike, just-- there.” And Will wraps Mike’s arm around himself and snuggles even closer into Mike’s side. Yeah okay so Mike is like, properly dying now. “Is that okay?” Will asks, looking up at Mike with tired eyes.

“Yeah,” Mike breathes, still sounding calmer than he feels even while out of breath.Will seems satisfied, though, leaning back into Mike. After a few minutes Mike can tell the medicine is kicking in because Will’s head keeps leaning forward or backward slightly before he jerks back awake.

“Here,” Mike murmurs, guiding Will’s head to rest on his shoulder. Will tenses for a moment before completely melting into the touch.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“Of course,” Mike whispers back. It takes everything in him to not press a kiss to Will’s fevery forehead. Will is asleep in only minutes, Mike not far behind him, resting his cheek on Will’s head. Mike doesn’t stop smiling, even after sleep takes him under its spell.

💛💙

Mike stumbles through the door with a frustrated huff. He had a very long day and almost nothing went right. First he missed his alarm, which made him late for work, then he had to deal with some of the rudest customers he’s ever dealt with while on a shift with a coworker that hates him, then he dropped a tray of dishes and had to stay an extra 34 minutes after his shift to clean it up. To make matters worse, he now has a cut stretching across the palm of his hand from a shard of glass he wasn’t careful enough with. After that, he got stuck in traffic, the elevator was broken so he had to walk up three flights of stairs, and it took him about five tries to get the door open because he kept dropping his keys.

“You’re late,” Will says without looking up from his book. Mike grunts in lieu of a reply, shuffling around trying to untie his shoes. Will looks up. “You alright over there?” he questions, smiling like he thinks Mike is funny, but eyebrows pinched in concern.

Mike drops his messenger bag unceremoniously under their coat hooks and struggles to pull his coat off before letting out a big sigh and running his hand through his hair, the other resting on his hip. “Yeah,” he replies breathily, gesturing with the hand he had in his hair. “Long day.”

“Do you need anything?” Will’s voice comes out a little nasally and hoarse. Despite not feeling all the way better, he insisted on going to class today. His fever is gone so Mike didn’t see the harm in letting him, although he did threaten to make Will stay home again if he seems to be getting worse.

“Dunno,” Mike almost trips on nothing, stumbling as he goes to flop pitifully onto his bed, shoving his face into his blankets. He’s too tired to bother trying to enunciate his words and he has a headache throbbing at the base of his skull anyway so too much effort would be detrimental to him.

Without speaking, Will gets off his bed. Mike closes his eyes, basking in the comfortable silence. Will taps Mike’s shoulder, holding out a glass of water for Mike.

“Thanks,” Mike nearly whispers, sitting up slowly to take it from Will.

“Headache?”

“How’d you know,” Mike mumbles, but he knows it’s just because Will knows him. Will already has two ibuprofen pills in his other hand like he was expecting Mike’s answer. He probably was. God, Mike is so in love with this boy.

“Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” Will says softly, brushing a lock of hair out of Mike’s face with his gentle artist hands. Mike leans into the touch before Will can pull away, humming quietly.

“Can you um,” Mike leans around Will to place the water glass on his side table. “Can you stay over here with me?” he finishes, mirroring their conversation from a couple nights before.

“I don’t know, can I?” Mike snaps his eyes up to look at his best friend, who has an impish grin on his face.

“Oh shut up,” Mike groans, smiling all the same. Will laughs, clambering onto Mike’s bed to sit across from him, criss-crossing his legs. Mike takes a moment to stare at him. He has an easy smile resting on his lips and it reaches his eyes when he meets Mike’s gaze.

Neither of them say anything. They just stare at each other, smiling like idiots and subconsciously leaning forward. Mike becomes aware of their proximity and wonders when their faces got so close. He feels his eyes widen and his breath hitch. Will seems to do the same.

Mike hopes and hopes that maybe, just maybe, Will is thinking the same thing he is right now: Are we about to kiss? Again? Mike doesn’t lean away, just in case. Will doesn’t lean away either.

“Mike,” Will whispers, so quietly Mike probably wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been staring at Will’s lips.

“Hmm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Mike tears his eyes away from Will’s nervously bitten-red lips, looking into the hazel of his eyes instead. A half of a thought forms in his brain and, like a stupid idiot, before he can think it all the way through he says, “I don’t know, can you?”

Will flushes, frowning, letting out an annoyed huff of breath, and leaning away from Mike. “Are you fucking kidding me you’re gonna make that stupid joke right now you are unbe--” Mike grabs the front of Will’s shirt and tugs Will toward him, so their lips collide, grinning the whole time.

Mike’s breath catches again, even though he literally initiated the kiss. Will’s lips are slightly chapped, but they’re warm and Mike has honestly never felt more at home. One of Will’s hands quickly finds its way to Mike’s hair, getting tangled instantly at his nape while the other gently takes Mike’s bandaged one to hold. Mike groans into Will’s mouth, something he probably should be embarrassed about but can’t bring himself to care because Will Byers is kissing him on the mouth.

Will pulls away, smirking when Mike nearly falls forward, chasing the kiss he has so desperately wanted for years. “What did you do?” Will asks, his voice slightly more hoarse than before, holding up Mike’s awkwardly bandaged hand.

“I told you, long day. Now come back,” he replies quickly, wanting to be kissing Will again as soon as possible. Will puts his other hand on Mike’s chest keeping him a good eight inches or so away from him, which is eight inches or so too far in Mike’s opinion. He lets out a childishly squeaky noise, verging on sounding distressed. “Whaaat,” he groans.

“Tell me what happened,” Will says like a mean, mean, mean person who wants Mike to suffer. (He doesn’t. He does, however, look very smug that he has this effect on Mike.)

“I dropped a bunch of dishes at the end of my shift and wasn’t careful enough when I was picking up the pieces okay, good? Good. Let me kiss you.”

Will laughs and Mike wants to put the melodic sound in a bottle and keep it forever. “So needy,” Will teases.

“Sure, yeah, whatever, come here.” And with that, Will removes his hand keeping Mike at bay and they go crashing into each other, kissing harder and more heated than before.

But they’re not close enough so Mike does what any reasonable guy would do and pulls Will into his lap, the latter following eagerly, shifting to straddle Mike while cupping his face.

“I love you,” Mike murmurs into the kiss, though it comes out sounding more like “I luff you” because Will has Mike’s lower lip trapped in his teeth. Will lets go and pulls back to look at Mike. Shit, was that too soon? “I mean-- shit. Um. I’m so sorry I probably shouldn’t’ve said that I--” Mike is cut off by Will pressing his finger against his lips in a “sh” gesture. Will’s eyes are wide but Mike can’t yet tell with what emotion.

“I love you too, Mike,” Will whispers, maintaining eye contact. Relief floods through Mike. Thank god he didn’t screw up. He grins.

“Cool,” Mike says.

“Cool,” Will has a soft smile on his face and leans in again. Mike eagerly meets him in the middle. It’s safe to say that today is no longer Mike Wheeler’s worst day.

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @quantits, to @afterglowsssss

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @punkhandheldcheesegrater, to @mikebabygirlqueerler

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @ringsandbracelets, to @love-kurdt

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @iamtheoneandonlyever, to @imactuallyreallycool

[bylersecretsanta2023]

to @sillylittlerock, from @qulizalfos

[bylersecretsanta2023]

to @rynns-traffic-cam, from a secret someone ;)

[bylersecretsanta2023]

just double checking it’s cool for me to do something chanukah related? (i hope it is because that’s what i’m working on rn 😭)

Yeah, it is! Dw! 👍🏻

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @mikebabygirlqueerler, to @autistic-katara

Chapter 1: Merry Christmas

Christmas time has arrived.

It was snowing, the houses where beautifully decorated, the churches choir was singing christmas songs to the people, and everyone was in the mood for christmas.

But the most decorated house was the home of the Wheelers. Thousands of christmas-lights were surrounding the house. But the inside was even more decorated.

Inside the Wheeler-residence were even more lights hanging from the ceiling, a huge christmas-tree was put up by Karen and her only son, Mike, and even mistletoe's were put up everywhere. Holly, youngest Wheeler and the only one still believing in Santa, was insisting to put them up, much to Mike's displeasure.

It is part of the Christmas spirit, Mikey. Don't be a party pooper!

That being said, the Mistletoe's where put up by Karen and Nancy.

But that is not the reason for Mike's incredible nervousness. This year the Byers and Wheelers were going to celebrate Christmas together. And that would mean: Mike could spend a little more time with Will. Though, the problem was for Mike that he was so in love with William Byers that he couldn't stop thinking about his best friend since 12 years. Mike was definitely down very bad for him, he might as well go crazy.

This reminded him of the one thing Mike and Will promised each other on Halloween 1984: Crazy together!

Thinking about that time was no help though. Thinking about the time he first realized some indication for his queerness - which for Mike is already bad enough - and his crush on the one and only Will Byers, aka Will the Wise, was definitely not helping.

His realization for his very obvious feelings for him where on the summer 1985, though. That was a time where he was so bad in denial that he was just plain ignoring Will and his feelings at the same time. At this time he was still dating Eleven Hopper. He did love her, don't get him wrong, but it was not the way he was expected to do. He loved her as a friend, even still does, but not as a girlfriend. That place in his very gay heart was reserved for Will Byers, her step-brother.

Now that they were officially broken up, he didn't have to keep pretending to be something that he definitely isn't.

He can still remember the breakup clearly, since he was the one breaking up with her, after having a crisis in front of Dustin. He told Mike to just break up with her and tell her the truth about this whole dilemma he has, so he did just that.

Mike told El that they could date anymore, because he just didn't love her the way she wanted him to, because he was gay and in love with Will. Surprisingly, she was supportive of him and told him to go get his man, which is definitely something that Max had taught her, who finally woke up after Vecna was defeated. Mike and Will nearly died in the Upside Down, but thankfully made it out alive. Yeah, Mike may have nearly lost an eye and Will is missing about three of his fingers, but they were alive.

Vecna was defeated, the Gates to the Upside Down were closed and Hawkins is in the middle of being rebuilt.

Yet the only thing on his mind, was the near-kiss Will and Mike had shared in the Upside Down. They nearly had kissed in the Upside Down version of the Wheelers Garage. And if El hadn't interrupted them, they would have shared an actual kiss. Dang it, Eleven!

But maybe Mike should stop laying sideways on his bed, having a Gay-panic attack over Will-fucking-Byers, when the Byers were here any minute. Of course he had already decided that he would drag Will to the basement for the next fourtyfive minutes, to catch up and keep being attached to the hip, like they always have been (and always will be, thank you very much). He can already hear Hopper yelling at them to not be too loud and to keep the door open five inches. They aren't even dating, so why do they have to keep the door open? Did Eleven spill the beans on him? No, she wouldn't do that to him, right? No, of course she wouldn't.

He should really stop thinking about anything, but that Will is nearly here and is spending Christmas with him.

That alone made him get up and pick all the presents up that he had gotten for Will, El, and even one for Joyce and Hopper. He really tried to find something fitting for them all. Will was the easiest, even if he had so many ideas, he just bought him all he could think of and what he knew would make him happy. He made him even a mixtape (with Jonathan's help) that included songs that they both called their songs.

Just as he was picking them up, the doorbell rang. He ran out of his room, giving Karen his presents for everyone, and opened the door in a fast motion.

"Hey Mike, merry Christmas!" They said in unison. "Merry Christmas, come on in," Mike made as step to the right and let the Byers enter.

They all greeted each other, while Mike not surprisingly took Wills hand immediately, pulling him to the basement.

"Leave the door open at least five inches, Wheeler!" Hopper yelled, as Mike expected.

"You didn't even give me time to hang my jacket up and put my shoes off, Mike," Will grinned, after they were down the stairs and Mike let Will go. He was definitely not missing Wills comfortable warmth from his hands. Of course he didn't.

"Sorry, I'm just so excited to see you and fucking Christmas, I just couldn't wait," Mike explained, while a slight blush was creeping in his face.

"Really?" Will asked, "We've literally seen each other yesterday on the last day of school for the year. Have you really been missing me so much that you had to pull me away from the rest of our families?" That made Mike blush a bit more. Will was right, they have seen each other on friday, sharing every class. "Well, duh! Of course I missed you, Byers. You are my best friend!" He said. "Glad to hear that nothing has changed between us," Will grinned and put his jacket on the basements rack. Below his jacket, he put his shoes.

Mike noticed the new Chistmas sweater Will was wearing. It was dark blue with a yellow 'W' written on it. Mike thought Will looked beautiful in it. Though Will looked beautiful in absolutely anything, really.

"Cool sweater! Looks good on you," Mike said without thinking. "Thanks Mike, Mom bought it for me about a week ago," Will answered happily. "Cool," Mike felt stupid. He felt so stupid, but he just couldn't help himself.

"Hey, even the basement is decorated. Did you hang that up?" Will noticed the few lights everywhere, the most being at the places with Will's art on the wall.

"Yes, I thought it would set the christmas spirit more easily. Also mom subconsciously gave me the idea," Mike admitted to him. He really is unable to lie to Will, unless it's about... his queerness that included Will himself. Even then, most of the time he was just a few inches too close to spill the beans.

"It's absolutely beautiful, Mikey," Will was busy marveling the decorations that he didn't realize that he accidentally called his best friend by his childhood nickname.

"Thanks," Mike was going crazy now, that's for sure. Usually, whenever someone - even El - tried calling him Mikey, he would tell them to stop that. But whenever Will did it, he couldn't help but get flustered. It's just the way Will called him Mikey that made him loose his mind internally.

"By the way, I am really happy that you could make it. I really looked forward to it. You being here is already making this year the best christmas in history!" Mike smiled and Will turned around to face him. "I am happy that I could spend my christmas with you too. I mean, it's gonna be awesome. Just you and me and our families. Also, your mom seems so much happier after the divorce of Ted. And you also seem more filled with life," Will smiled sweetly at him, slightly red on his cheeks, which Mike at first didn't notice. "Yeah, he really was an asshole to all of us. I'm just happy that mom is not drinking that much anymore, because of him," Mike exclaimed. That made Will smile more.

A little while later - more like 30 minutes later - they were all seated on the table. Karen and Joyce were seated on either end. Next to Joyce were seated both Mike and Will, while Nancy and Jonathan were seated on Karen's side. Between Mike and Nancy was Holly, while Jane was seated in between Will and Hopper, who also sat next to Jonathan.

The table was filled with tons of food that Joyce, Karen, and Hopper had prepared together, such as a turkey, mashed potatoes, regular salad, potato salad, cucumber salad, and many more.

While the rest was having their own big conversations, Mike and Will were, as they usually were, in their own little bubble.

They were laughing at stupid jokes, geeking about Dungeons and Dragons, and even jokingly made fun of each other or another party member.

It was going amazingly for all of them, everyone had fun, and everybody was happy.

Of course, Will and Mike couldn't help themselves, so they always had to touch each other in any way possible, as much as they were able to touch. That included legs touching, arm brushing, wiping food off of the others face, and alot more.

After dinner, where everyone handed Karen the plates, who washed them, then to Hopper, who dried them, and lastly got passed to Joyce, who put them away, everyone went back to spending time with their favorite person. That meant that Nancy and Jonathan went to Nancy's room, Mike and Will had a race to Mike's room, Jane atood with Hopper and Joyce, while Karen took care of Holly.

In Mike's room, Will immediately saw the painting he had gifted Mike right above his bed, hanging proudly and neatly on the wall.

"You hung it up?" Will asked surprised. Even after years and years of friendship, he was still surprised that Mike had hung his artwork up on every possible surface.

"Of course I hung it up, Will. It's a painting that you made, so duh," Mike answered him, like it was the only logical conclusion of Will gifting Mike a painting.

"I guess you are right," Will looked down, still not having told Mike the truth. That the painting was not commissioned by Jane. She wasn't even in the painting, nor was she ever interested in DnD.

"I know that El didn't commission the painting, Will," Mike just blurted out to him. "What?" he was flabbergasted. How could he possibly have known about that? Had he talked to Jane about it? Had he asked her? Will asked himself so many questions, he thought hia brain would explode.

"El wrote me a letter, right before I flew to California. She wrote that she had no idea of what you were painting and that you would not let her take a glance of your masterpiece. Also, those words you said in the van, didn't align with anything El had told me. Like when she said that I made her feel like she's a monster, since she is so different, but you said that I made her feel like she is better for being different," Mike explained him. He didn't expect that to be the answer to all of his questions.

"It took me a while to understand the reason for your lies and I still don't understand all of it. I understand that you wanted to make me feel better and that you wanted me to be confident and less unsure. You wanted me to feel like I am important to her, but those aren't Elevens feelings, are they?" His questing didn't really sound like an actual question, but Will still answered him.

"No, they aren't!"

"Then who's feelings are they? Are they even anyone's feelings or did you just make them up?" Mike sounded curious. He wasn't mad, nor disappointed.

"I'm sorry, I can't answer that," Will said, looking down, while blushing out of shame.

"Why not? It's a simple question. You can really tell me, Will," Mike said.

"Mike, you wouldn't understand. You would be disgusted and wouldn't ever talk to me anymore, if I'd tell you. I don't want to lose you," Will confessed.

"I could never ever in my life be dosgusted of you, nor would I for any reason stop talking to you. You won't lose me in a million years," he assured him.

"But in this case you would! Anybody would," Will insisted.

"I wouldn't, Will! I would never!" Just in this moment, Mike realized what Will might be hiding from him. It was so obvious, yet so well hidden from the rest of the world. Mike couldn't believe that he could be so oblivious to the obvious truth of Will's words.

"Could it be that these are your words? And please tell me the truth, Will," Mike begged. Will looked at him in surprise, but couldn't say a word. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't say it. He couldn't confess it.

"Please, say something," he begged.

"Yes," Will whispered. He could just doe at this point. He had just confessed his feelings for his 'straight' best friend, who now looked at him in surprise. May the Upside Down and Vecna take him now! Only they couldn't take him away, for they were gone.

"Why didn't you just tell me they were your feelings? I would have felt better, if you would have told me from the beginning," Mike exclaimed. "What do you mean, why didn't I just tell you? I was scared and afraid that you would leave me, the moment we would set a foot in Hawkins or Lenora! I was terrified of your reaction, so I just didn't let it come to that point," Will now yelled. How couldn't Mike understand that? "Will, I can't live without you! I couldn't when you went missing, I couldn't when you got possessed, I couldn't when the Mind Flayer attacked us, and I especially couldn't after you went to Lenora. I couldn't speak to anybody, I couldn't even get out of bed. I was in such deep depression that I didn't move for the majority of the time. I called every single damn day, I tried to write you letters that didn't end up being a confession or ended with a 'Love Mike' instead of 'From Mike', but it was hard. Whenever I could write to El it was easy, but to you these letters were pages over pages long, while El had like a post card or something. I have tried everything to reach out to you, to hear your voice, to read a letter, to get anything that was from you, but it was hard. Joyce had the telemarketing thing, I couldn't get my shit together and you seemed to hate me for what happened that summer!"

Will stood there in utter shock. Did Mike just confess that Will's feelings were the same as his? Was Will delusional? He had to be, this can't be right. Or can he?

"Mike, you must be confused, you aren't acting like yourself-" but Mike didn't let him finish.

"No, I haven't been truthful to myself about my attraction towards you for my whole entire life! I just want you to understand that for the first time in my god damn life, I am in the knowledge of who I am! I am gay and in love with you, William Byers!" And there it was, the confession. But Will didn't know what to think. "Are you pulling a prank on me? On christmas? If you do, then it's not fucking funny!"

"I am not jocking, Will. I would never joke about such a thing. Especially after I seem to not be good at hiding it! Literally my whole family knew about it, without me knowing. You can ask anybody. Even Dustin or Lucas! Ask El, or ask Max! I have been head over heels with you for as long as I can think. I can even show you the letters!" Mike said, beginning to rummage through his papers. "I believe you, Mike," Will said and slowly went towards him. Mike, who stopped searching for the letters, turned around and was staring into the beautiful green eyes that belonged to Will Byers. "What?" Mike finally said nearly inaudible. "I said, I believe you, Mikey," Will repeated and smiled at him. And of course, Mike smiled back on autopilot.

"Can I kiss you?" Mike asked shyly, to which Will just nodded. As Mike leaned in, the door opened, interrupting their near-kiss.

"Joyce said that you two should come downstairs," Jane said, before leaving the room again.

"Maybe later then?" Mike huffed annoyed, which made Will giggle at his maybe-boyfriend.

"Before we go downstairs, do you wanna be my boyfriend?" Will asked, to hopefully scratch the maybe out of the maybe-boyfriend.

"I thought you would never ask, my cleric," he smiled again.

"So we are boyfriends now!" Will smiled.

"Boyfriends, sounds perfect," Mike smiled back.

As they went downstairs, they were wondering what Joyce wanted from them.

But all she did, was point at a spot over their heads, where a mistletoe hang.

"So I do get my kiss now, don't I?" Will whispered in Mike's ear, who blushed like crazy. In just a few seconds, Will pulled Mike by his sweater and gave him the sweetest and greatest kiss that Mike could have ever experienced. He loved it and already had gotten addicted to it. He was addicted to his chapped lips, to the automatic synched rhythm of their lips moving, and the roaming hands of Will, all over his upper body. Mike loved it and never wanted it to stop.

Unfortunately, there was this thing called Oxygen that a human needed. They had to end the kiss, but now were able to stare into the eyes of their loved ones.

Joyce, who had left the scene for a little bit of privacy, went to Hopper and Jane.

"I love you, my cleric," Mike whispered and kissed Will again. He was definitely not gonna stop that for a very long while. And if Will knew anything about Mike, it was exactly that.

"I love you too, my paladin," he whispered back, right in between kisses.

"Can you suck each others faces in your own room maybe?" an annoyed voice came from behind Will. "Hey Holly, sorry Holly," Will grinned and pulled Mike up the stairs again.

"Do I have to tell every damn couple to not suck their faces right in front of me?" Holly complained, while continuing her way to the kitchen for a few christmas cookies and some water.

Mike and Will were sitting on Mike's bed, while continued their make out session.

Sadly, they were getting tired, so they silently cqme to the agreement to end it and to sleep.

Mike just didn't want to fall asleep yet. He was so happy that he finally had gotten his boyfriend, aswell as his shit together. And now he couldn't wait for tomorrow morning. He already knew that everything will be perfect. He would just know that they would be able to cuddle and kiss Will for as much as he wants to, in private and in the safety of both of their homes. He knew that none of them were against them and loved both of them even more for being themselves.

Mike was finally unconditionally happy and he was allowed to be happy.

Will also didn't want to sleep quite yet, but wanted to be clingy with his Mikey. He wanted to give Mike all the love he deserved, but could never get from Jane. He wanted to make Mike happy and himself aswell. He wanted the best for both of them and never wanted to let Mike down.

Fortunately, there was nothing Will could do to let Mike down. Absolutely nothing, and Will knew that. Will knew that very well.

Will just couldn't wait for the morning to come, where they were gonna cuddle the ever living shit out of each other. Everybody knew they were attached to the hip, but now that they were dating, they were even closer attached. It would be a disaster, yet ao perfect.

And with that in mind, both fell asleep, in each other's arms, Will's face in Mike's chest, with detangled legs. And they were happy, finally unconditionally happy. And they held their promise from Halloween a few years prior. They indeed went crazy together.

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @willelworld, to @marshmallo824

Will is mad.

He’s been sitting on his bed fuming for the past two hours, stirring in a thick cloud of frustration while staring down at his final project for ART235. There’s one of Jonathan’s mixtapes— he made it for Will as a graduation present, congrats on surviving high school. literally!— buzzing from his Walkman headphones, acting as white noise to wade through the jumbled thoughts straggling around his mind.

He’s burning up in a newfound rage at the fact that he just can’t figure out what’s wrong with this piece lying in his lap. The class is one of his art electives— The Beauty of Still Life — and despite being only a 200 level elective course, it’s been pulling Will through the wringer all semester long. After two graphite drawings, three chalk pastels, a 3D clay model, and his very first venture into oil painting, Will is decidedly not seeing the beauty in it. He is, however, seeing red, because the final project is due tomorrow morning, and it’s already ten at night, and the charcoal coating his fingers and therefore streaking across his bed sheets is enough to have him in tears. Will holds them back, and continues to stare blankly, like the flowers and grapes and vase will actually come to life and clue him in on what he’s been getting wrong, what feels so off about the piece as a whole.

It’s the last night of Hanukkah, and Will has spent the better half of it rolling around his bed, sighing every few minutes as he makes another mark with a stick of charcoal, smudging it with a finger, then realizing it wasn’t looking any better. The kneaded eraser feels sweaty in his palm as he continues playing with it like a stress toy.

He and Mike had lit the final set of candles of their chanukiah hours ago, the flames leaving dripping wax in their wake as Will sat and watched. It was his first time celebrating away from home, from his family, which felt different, but he’s lucky to at least have Mike around to get a sense of home. Another thing he’s mad about - finals week taking up the time where he could be home with his mom, Jonathan, El and Hop, but instead he’s been swamped with hours upon hours of tedious papers, crammed studying, and finishing this stupidly frustrating still life.

In all, his first semester of college was nice, if not a bit hectic. Living with Mike had been both a dream and a nightmare, which he fully expected when signing himself up for living with the guy you’re in gay love with. And now, he’s only twelve hours away from the end, the finish line in sight, the last sprint before he’s back in Hawkins for a month of rest and recuperation. But this drawing is all wrong, and he’s ready to resign himself to a B+ in this class by handing in the world’s shittiest charcoal still life at 10 AM sharp. After that, the two of them will shove their suitcases and duffle bags of necessities into Mike’s trunk, and drive the hours-long ride home for winter break.

Will’s stomach growls embarrassingly loud, enough so that he hears it over both the headphones and music. As if on cue, the door handle jangles around and Mike waltzes through, kicking it shut behind him. He’s carrying a white porcelain plate with a couple of latkes, reheated from a few nights ago. Earlier in the week, Mike had somehow found the time amidst his plethora of essays to conjure up freshly made latkes in their dinky little communal dorm kitchen. Will isn’t sure how he did it, considering the sheer lack of kitchen utensils, and the rusted stove that clearly hasn’t been updated since the 50’s, a fire hazard waiting to happen. But nonetheless, when Mike had walked back upstairs carrying a platter filled with that beautiful fried potato, Will just about cried at the sentiment.

Mike joins him on his bed without asking, knowing full well that he’s allowed, and Will’s stomach growls again for good measure, like an alarm blaring out his jealousy over Mike finishing the last of the batch. Will hooks his single clean finger around the headphones and tugs them off.

Wordlessly, Mike hands him the plate. “For you,” he says, voice airy and dripping with fondness. Will could kiss him on the spot. He smiles, then looks down at his fingertips covered in chalky black, and then looks back to Mike sheepishly.

“Open. I’ll feed you,” Mike commands, and Will coughs out a laugh in surprise. He gives him a funny look, expecting Will to carry out their normal routine: Will refuses the help, then Mike pushes him on it, and Will caves immediately.

Will could argue on this, and he considers it, but he’s starving, and it feels ridiculous at this point to decline Mike’s care. They’ve fought monsters together and protected each other in literal battles. Mike hand feeding him latkes isn’t gonna kill him. Maybe.

“I feel like a baby right now,” Will admits, opening his mouth regardless of the comment as Mike breaks off a small piece for him to eat, then takes a bite for himself. They were much better fresh, but Will can’t complain. Mike pushes another piece against Will’s mouth before he’s done chewing the first, laughing, warm and light, at the unimpressed glare he receives.

And this is where Will’s biggest problem lies. This is the root of his current predicament with the still life. See, while he should’ve been spending the past three weeks getting a head start on his final project, he instead chose to work on something that’s, in his opinion, much more important, if not stupidly reckless. Will had put all of his free time towards a painting for Mike. A new one, a callback to the last grand piece he dedicated to him, in the backseat of that musty, sweltering pizza van flying through the Nevada desert.

He’s being stupid, Will realizes. He understands that, fully. He’s spent months overanalyzing every interaction with Mike since graduation. He spent the entirety of late October contemplating if he should go through with it, with making him another painting. This time, with a proper, honest confession attached. Not the piss-poor excuse of whatever he gave last time, hiding behind El, making a fool of himself with his trembling, lying words.

This time, he actually does have a little confidence. Mike has always been kind with him, always caring and gentle, but never in an insulting or belittling manner. But ever since they moved in together, it’s like the final walls separating the two of them fell, and Mike’s been all over him. He’s always complimenting Will, more than normal, peppering him with little innocuous comments on how nice he looks today or how well he’s doing in his classes or how good he’s been at making new friends. On top of that, Mike’s dialed up his touchiness to an entirely unheard level. He’s gotten more hugs from Mike in the past three months than in the entirety of high school. And the worst (best) part, is the ‘flirting.’ Will is hesitant to call it that, not wanting to get his hopes up, but he just doesn’t know another word to use that sums up all the little moments in their conversations that feel too playful, too endearing, and altogether too sweet.

It’s like Mike had some grand revelation on move-in day back in August, that this was for real. That Will wasn’t going anywhere. That they survived all the bullshit of their childhood, and they still have each other, and nothing could change that other than their own choices, not some ever-looming threat of death.

Whatever it is, Will is grateful, but he also wasted so much energy on dissecting every change in Mike’s behavior, every normal action amplified by an indescribable air of openness, trust, and, dare he say it, love. Will is feeling loved, every single day, and it unsettles him greatly. Not that he doesn’t feel loved by his family and friends at home, of course not. But this is a different kind of love. He feels wanted.

Which is why, despite their 13 years of platonic history, and despite his better judgment, he’s decided to take the plunge. Risk it all, so to speak. Gamble their friendship. Put his heart on the line and pray that Mike picks it back up, gingerly in his hands. That he returns it to Will’s chest in-tact and, against all odds, returns his feelings, too. If it all blows up in his face, Will’s betting on their school’s resident housing office to help him switch to a new dorm before the start of the Spring semester.

He’s chewing on another piece of the latke, deep in thought about this sticky situation, when Mike oh so helpfully points out his other, more pressing plight.

“How’s the still life going?” he asks, staring down at the almost completed drawing in Will’s lap. “It looks really nice.”

Will groans at this. “You say that about all my work. It’s starting to mean less and less everyday, you know.”

Mike scoffs playfully, not really hurt, but wanting to keep this conversation fun and spirited. “You’re saying my expert opinion doesn’t matter?”

“Expert in what, exactly?” Will welcomes the needed distraction from his work, and he wouldn’t admit it if asked, but he really does love to hear Mike comment on his art. Mike was his first critic, his first muse, and his biggest fan when it comes to his artwork.

“I’m the world’s leading expert in Will Byers art history. After you die they’re gonna be begging me to sell your old paintings, but I won’t budge.”

“After I die?” Will asks, eyes bulging as he laughs out the words. “Are you gonna open a museum in my honor, or something?”

Mike rolls his head to the side where it’s resting against the wall, linking their eyes. “Oh, definitely. There’ll be a whole wing just for D&D. I’ll sell Will the Wise merch in the gift shop for a profit.”

Will laughs again at the imagery Mike created for him, and shakes his head, his smile wide and on display. Mike tears his gaze away from Will’s eyes and for a moment, it moves to somewhere lower, a dangerous spot just below his nose and right above his chin. And then he’s looking down at the charcoal drawing again.

“Why are you still working on it, though? This looks incredible. Really. Like, really, really professional,” and Will can tell Mike’s having trouble finding the right words to describe the drawing, because it’s unlike any of the art Will actually enjoys creating. It’s black and white for starters, and there’s no people, just inanimate objects.

Will looks back up to Mike’s face, and he’s clearly concentrating hard. He appreciates the concern Mike gives him, the effort he puts into things even when he’s not quite sure how. “Not enough magic for your taste?”

This brings a closed-mouth grin to Mike’s lips, but he still hasn’t broken his gaze from the drawing. “Could use a dragon or two, I suppose.”

He’s suddenly all too aware of the painting currently hiding underneath his bed, right below the two of them. It’s different from the one he made in ‘86. Rather than the Party fighting a three-headed dragon, it’s simply a full-body portrait of Sir Mike. Will’s improved significantly in the past three and a half years, constantly honing his skills with acrylic paint through high school and now early college. He thinks he got the metallic reflect on Mike’s paladin armor just right, and he made sure to include the big old heart on his shield, again. Just to hammer home the point even more.

“But like, for real. From an objective standpoint, can you see anything— I don’t know— weird about it?” Will probes for more feedback. He should’ve paid more attention in the critique for his last project.

Mike goes quiet this time, zoning in on it. Will watches as his eyes glide back and forth, picking up on all the details. The lines and streaks of the charcoal stick lie across the finely textured paper. The hours of smudging and blending that Will endured, chasing perfection. The negative space he left behind for the highlighted points. The shadows cast by each object— a bowl of grapes surrounded by ornate candlesticks and a vase with a single lily flower— making them look like they’re bouncing off the paper and taking up real space. All the elements are present, but yet, something isn’t quite right.

“It’s the perspective, isn’t it?” Will interrupts the peaceful silence, breaking Mike’s concentration with his anxious rambling. “That’s definitely it. But it’s too late- I don’t think I can really fix it at this point- and I don’t have time to start all over, I mean I’ve been working on this nonstop for a week and a half and I don’t know why I keep fucking it up and—“

“Will,” Mike cuts him short with a hand pressed to his forearm, almost clutching at him. “There’s nothing wrong with the perspective. This looks crazy realistic, like I could reach in and touch everything for myself, you know? But it still has that sense of, like, your style. It feels purposeful, I guess, with how you can see the lines if you look up close. It feels human, even though there’s no people included.”

Will stares at him in a profound shock, like he didn’t expect Mike to go so deep with his analysis. He blinks a few times, a blush sprouting on his cheeks. “Thank you- that’s, that’s so. I’m so— thank you.” He settles on a simple form of gratitude, not wishing to trip over his words any longer.

“It’s perfect,” Mike tacks on, finally looking back upwards to take in Will’s expression. Will forgot how forward Mike is with his compliments for his art, as it’s been a good long while since he’s properly gifted him anything. Will feels a mix of excitement and dread at how Mike will react to his present-slash-confession. He’s planning on showing him the painting on the night the Party officially holds their holiday festivities, once everyone’s returned from their respective schools. He figures it’s a nice enough opportunity to give him the painting, and also relieves Will of the panic around finding Mike a suitable Christmas gift.

And Will thinks it’s over. He thinks his heart is finally safe to crawl back down his throat and settle into his ribcage once more. But Mike has other plans.

“You’re perfect,” Mike says in a whisper, but his eyes are still locked tight in an unbreaking connection with Will’s. He means it wholeheartedly, and Will sees something glimmer in his eyes at that moment. He’s made a choice.

Before Will can even process Mike’s words or begin to formulate a coherent response, Mike’s face is suddenly in front of him and it’s all he can see. It’s all he knows. Mike Mike Mike. Screw The Beauty of Still Life, Wil decides he’s never going to make another piece of art that isn’t focused around the boy in front of him.

Will’s not really sure what he expected would happen within the next few seconds, as all his brain power is going towards deciphering the logistics of proposing his new major that entirely surrounds painting this beautiful boy he lives with, but then there’s a pressure on his mouth, and he’s thrown out of his daze.

What the fuck. Mike’s kissing me. And it’s an electric shock to his nervous system, and it’s like his body’s being woken up by a bucket of frozen water as he’s flung into the present moment. His brain catches up, and before he starts kissing back or doing really anything at all, Mike’s pulling away. His eyes are searching his face, back and forth, in this confused and hopeful and pained fashion, brows pinching in the center.

Instead of saying anything useful, Will blurts out, “Oh my god, you ruined the surprise.” He’s thinking about how many hours of tossing and turning in his bed, pondering what words to use when he inevitably reveals the true depth of his feelings. All the worries and fears he’s harbored, all the insecurities, they’re playing on a loop in his mind, like how they say your life flashes before your eyes right as you die. He’d gladly let Mike kill all his fears.

“What?” Mike utters, quiet and hurt, his very own fears springing up as his brain zeros in on the word ‘ruined’ and nothing else. Will wants to punch himself in the face.

“Shit, sorry, I meant. I meant that, I was planning on doing that, too. As a Christmas present,” Will states, dumbly. He’s still a bit disoriented.

“You were planning on kissing me as a present?” Mike giggles, his eyes turning to crescents. “I mean, I’m not complaining. But you could do that any day of the year, if you want.”

“No, that’s— I was trying to say that… that I’ve spent the past few weeks writing up this- this whole confession to you in my head. And I wanted to wait until we were back in Hawkins and not, like, sleeping in the same room. In case things got awkward,” Will explains, still sounding sort of silly. He’s never felt simultaneously so embarrassed yet so overjoyed.

Mike’s laughing a little, eyes dazzling. But now he’s sobering up, listening to Will intently.

“And, I- um. I kinda— I made you a painting.”

Mike brightens at this, his smile widening even more, somehow. “Like the one when we were fifteen?” He asks, teasing, with a tilt of his head.

Will sighs, embarrassment trickling in yet again. “Yeah. Like the one when we were fifteen. But much better quality, and more kissing involved, preferably.”

It’s like Mike was waiting to hear the word ‘kiss’ again for the green light to lean back in. He puts a hand on the back of Will’s neck and into his hair, pulling him closer. Will rests his own on the side of Mike’s face, cautiously, like he’s still not sure if he’s allowed to do this. They meet in the middle, and this time, it’s not as much of a jolt, as an overwhelming feeling of warmth. It’s like pouring warm water over your hair and down your neck— shuddering, but in a good way.

When they break apart again, Will realizes he never wiped the charcoal off his hands, and there’s a collection of smeared black fingerprints on Mike’s cheek. He can’t contain his laugh at the sight, bubbling up out of him. He feels on fire. He feels hysterical.

“Can I see the painting, now that I’ve ruined your surprise?” Mike asks, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Will considers it, and then shakes his head. “Nah, you’re gonna have to wait for the full thing. Including the confession. It’s only fair.”

Mike wilts at this, grabbing Will’s neck again from where his hand has been resting on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can spend the next ten days pretending like there’s nothing between us,” he says in a hushed tone. He’s being dramatic, Will notices, and it’s in that faint teasing tone that Mike always does when he tries to get his way.

“I mean, you don’t have to do that,” Will offers.

Mike spends a total of five seconds considering this, before he outright asks: “So, you’ll be my boyfriend now?”

Will barks out another laugh at the way he phrased it. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep up with Mike’s impulsivity. He’s spent the last couple of years wanting to make a move, and then the past months building up to actually doing it. But here Mike is, beating him to it in a seemingly split-second decision.

“Yes, of course. Of course I’ll be your boyfriend,” Will answers him, beaming at the prospect. He can’t believe his luck. He can’t believe Mike’s timing.

“Okay… so, can I see the painting now?”

Will rolls his eyes without a hint of malice, shoving Mike in the shoulder. “Did you really think that would work?”

Mike leans into Will’s space once more, bouncing back to him like a rubber band. He’s never seen the other boy happier. “Worth a shot.”

A couple weeks later, when Will receives his final grades, the “B+” next to ART235 is enough for him.

It’s perfect, even.

[bylersecretsanta2023]

If I have a written gift, could I also post it on my AO3 account?

Of course, if you plan on not being anonymous