Byler one shots

17

Christmas Eve had finally come at last, and with it brought the beginnings of the first snowfall of the year, a crackling fire in the fireplace, and Joyce Byers and Jim Hopper passed out on the couch fast asleep, victims of a double shift and two many servings of eggnog.

The two were cuddled together, Joyce’s head slumped onto his shoulder and his lolled back against the couch, hitting the wall. Normally Will would have laughed to see his Mom and Hopper in such a state, but there was something so peaceful about them, together and safe and glowing under a million twinkling lights from the tree, that all it did was make his heart feel three sizes bigger, like the Grinch.

Jonathan wasn’t due to come home from college till the next day (if he made it at all), due to an unexpected blizzard on the east coast, and so far the holidays had felt subdued in his absence. There was a tree and a small collection of shiny gifts under it, but it just didn’t feel the same. Perhaps Will was feeling the melancholy that so many people suffered from this time of year, or it was an after effect of a bit too much eggnog himself, leaving his emotions a bit closer to the surface than usual.

Hopper had stopped over earlier with a giant brick of inedible horror known as a “fruitcake” that some blue haired old lady had given the boys down at the station as a thank you for saving her cat from a tree, and a gallon of eggnog that they spiked with an unholy amount of rum. The two of them had sat at the kitchen table, poking at the fruitcake with matching looks of disgust that had morphed into matching trills of laughter as more and more eggnog was consumed.

Will had observed them from the living room as he cast anxious looks out the window and watched the clock. Mike was supposed to come over to exchange gifts and the longer he waited the higher the likelihood he wouldn’t be able to make it at all, with the way the lazy flurries had morphed into a blustery driving snow.

By nine he still hadn’t arrived, his Mom and Hopper had began to snore lightly as ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ played on mute in the background, and Will had snuck enough cups of leftover eggnog for everything to feel a bit fuzzy in his brain, like someone had rewired the circuits in there and he didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. 

At nine forty-five, just when Will was about to give up, there was a soft knock on the door and he scrambled up, grabbing Mike’s gift from the side table, and ran to answer it before it would wake his Mom. He opened the door and Mike was standing there, his bike laying against the porch and his hair and eyelashes speckled with glimmering snow.

“Mike, you biked here?!” Will whispered, stepping out a bit on to the porch and pulling the door halfway closed behind him. “You’re insane! Why didn’t your Mom or Dad drive you?”

Mike shook his head, spraying Will’s sweatshirt with a fine mist. “They didn’t want to. Said the weather was too bad and it could wait till tomorrow or the next day.”

“So you risked your life to come here on your bike?”

Mike grinned, the same shit eating grin that lit up his features whenever he was incredibly proud of himself. “Sure did. I wasn’t gonna miss exchanging presents on Christmas Eve. It’s tradition.”

In that moment, Will had never loved Mike Wheeler more. Sure he’d known he had feelings for him, ones that went strictly beyond friendship, since the sixth grade at least, but it was like feeling it all for the first time. Maybe it was the gesture or maybe it was the illegally consumed booze, but he knew with a clarity that he’d never possessed before, that he didn’t just like Mike–he loved him. And that it was ok.