𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝚈 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙳? ⇢ ʙʏʟᴇʀ

after

Here is is. The last chapter.

Enjoy.

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Staring hard into the bathroom mirror, his fingers wrapped tightly around the porcelain base of the Byers' sink, Mike truly thought for a moment that his reflection was staring right back through him.

He didn't know quite why he was so nervous, all he knew was that his nerves, feeling exposed and hot, were shot and he couldn't quite calm the overbearing hum inside of his chest. Tearing his gaze away from the mirror where he'd been shooting daggers into his own reflection only moments before, Mike glanced outwards to the left, raven black eyes scanning the glass of the small single window high up on the wall across from the toilet.

The snow was still falling, and in some way, watching the snowflakes drift aimlessly downwards through the blurred windowpane instilled peace in the boy. In reality, he knew very well why he was nervous. Giving gifts was never something that Mike was completely comfortable with, and in some odd way, giving them always came back to him. What if he didn't do well enough in choosing a present? What if they hated him for doing a poor job? It was stupid, he knew that. Yet there he was, half trapped in the Byers' bathroom as he tried to find some sense of calm to work with before he had to give Will his gift.

From inside the tiny room, Mike could hear the smooth croon of Blue Christmas drifting throughout the house.

"Calm down, Wheeler," Mike whispered only to himself, his words feeling weighted as he stared out the window. He was breathing deeply, letting out long, subtly relieving exhale as his eyes dropped from the sink. The predicament he was in was silly, and he knew it. He'd been the only one to do this to himself. He could have just stayed home early Christmas Eve, like he usually did, even if he hadn't wanted to. He could think of better things to do than sit and drink hot chocolate with parents he hardly spoke to, listening to someone like Armstrong (but not as good, of course,) and wishing he was with Will. So he decided, to the distaste of his mother, that he would be with Will on Christmas Eve.

So here I am, Mike thought to himself cheaply as his fingers flexed against the sink's edge. Here I am, doing exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to go see him. So here I am, at Will's house, in Will's bathroom, hiding from him because I don't want him to think that his boyfriend is a total lame-o.

Twisting his fingers against the sink, Mike's face turned back down towards the porcelain bowl, a smile creeping across his lips.

I might never get used to that, he thought.

From outside the door, a gentle knock echoed against it's wooden surface. Bringing Mike out of his trance, he turned towards the door, his heart racing.

"S-Sorry, just a minute," Mike replied weakly, his eyes lingering on the mirror for a moment before he finally took a look at the door.

"No rush, honey," Joyce spoke softly from outside the bathroom, her voice patient and sweet as a mother's voice should be, "I'm just running out to grab some icing. Wanted to see if you needed anything?"

Mike's hand drifted from the sink and fell from the bathroom counter, rising and laying gently against his stomach. He'd never really considered just how much he appreciated Joyce before, but goodness, he sure did. There was never really a good time to tell her this, never a specific moment when it had stood out to him. Rather, it had been an accumulation over the years, more prominently in the strenuous past month and a half that they'd both gone a little crazy during. She did a lot for him, and he wasn't even her own blood. He made a mental note to thank her the next time he got a chance, when a bathroom door wasn't separating them.