Chapter Text
My native language is not English and although I know the language a lot, I am not fluent. Much of the translation will be done by google translator. Thank you for understanding if grammatical or cohesive errors occur.
1995.
New York.
Mike looked out of the subway window and stared at the blurred landscape outside.
It was autumn and the rain made every corner of the city feel freezing. Sinking a little deeper into his huge coat, Mike tried to ignore the water inside his shoes and the sense of anguish inside his chest. He tried to pretend that this tightness did not exist, ashamed of the feelings that surrounded him whenever he thought of the commitment he had to face in a few days. He should be happy, he should celebrate with true joy as all his other friends did.
I mean, Lucas and Max are finally getting married!
After ten years of dating and various obstacles being overcome (like Max's idiot brother, for example), his friends had finally settled and head in place and realized that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.
As if Mike, Will, and Dustin had not known that since they was fifteen.
They wanted a simple ceremony with just the presence of friends and family. New York seemed like a great place for the wedding, since the two already lived there and it was near the cities where Mike and the other boys lived. And it was not just the wedding of two of his best friends, but the wedding he was invited to be groomsman.
Groomsman!
Mike buried his face in his hands and felt the envelope in his pocket weigh a little. Luke's well-meaning words weighed in his ears.
"You have an extra invitation if you want to take someone in. You know, my mom would love to see everyone celebrating our love with the people they love."
Mike rolled his eyes with jealousy tilting his stomach. That was the problem.
There was no one to take because his love life was rubbish.
Since his teenage years Mike suspected that he had no luck in the requirement of love. He was a romantic, who gave himself easily, who had to constantly hear from Dustin that he had "heart eyes" His early encounters were intense, but quick, all ending with him heartbroken. Will used to say that he was an "incurable romantic" who was destined to love as quickly and intensely as he could.
God, Mike hopes not.
He gave up over the years. It was easier just to stay in his own, without thinking about love relationships. It was easier than his ego allowed, actually. After all, he was a twenty-five-year-old six-foot-tall nerd, skinny as fuck, mechatronically engineered, and who had an embarrassing collection of comic books in his apartment. His hair was black and wild, his skin pale and the freckles so plentiful that they were a laughingstock in high school. He was ungainly, his legs too long, always bumping into everything and everyone when he was embarrassed. He was a bit shy too. Not so much when Will, who was famous for speaking ten words a day on average, but he was not Dustin, who got everyone's attention with his funny jokes and comments.
Anyway, we could say that he was not very attractive to the ladies.
Mike took the extra invitation with his hand and stared at it, running his thumb over the decorated white paper.
Max & Lucas would love your presence to celebrate their love with them.
Mike laughed lightly through his nose. What a cliché thing. Max must have had an itchy fit when she saw the invitations that were definitely Erica's idea.
The small smile on his lips quickly disappeared.
Will would take his handsome new boyfriend to the wedding. Dustin is probably still dating the scientist he met at work a few months ago. Nancy and Jonathan would be coming. Joyce and Bob too. Even Erica was taking her new boyfriend.
He would be the only bachelor at the party. As in all celebrations. Like at Nancy and Jonathan's wedding, or at Thanksgiving, Will's birthday, last year's new year-.
His thoughts were interrupted as she stepped into the wagon.
God.
She is beautiful.
The young woman in the wagon ahead of him was soaked from head to toe. The umbrella in her hands seemed destroyed, as if a huge wind had broken it. Her boots, like her socks, were dark with water. The soaked coat did not protect her in any way, clinging to her lean body. The cap on her head was made of wool and made the water keep flowing down her face even though she was inside the subway.
Her face took his breath away.
Wet brown hair stuck to her cheek, molding her face. The tip of her nose and lips were red with cold. Those big brown eyes looked around for a vacant seat, which was not difficult as the subway was almost empty. It was very heavy rainy night, and few people were willing to venture out on the street at this hour. He, for example, only had the displeasure of losing his bus and had to catch another who only arrived in New York at ten p.m.
The mysterious girl walked to a seat next to him, hugging herself as her teeth quivered. She sat up and took the cap off her head. Then she removed the huge soaked coat and set it on the floor. The air conditioning in the wagon was forgotten on, making her skin shiver. Mike felt sick, unable to take his eyes off her. She was small. About a foot shorter than him. There was not much in her bones to protect her from the cold. A little more and she'd catch a cold.
Mike suddenly remembered his suitcase on the floor. He had a slew of coats and sweaters (courtesy of his mother) in it, many of which he probably would not wear. He could lend her a ...
He should not, should he?
What if she thought it was strange? What if she never returned his coat? Well, it's not like he needs it back. He had enough coats. But how should he approach it? She would probably find him a freak. She is probably scared. A girl at this time of night, alone in the carriage, is probably wanting distance from any man. She would probably think he wants something more from her. She'll laugh at him. She's going to hate him. Worse, she's going to tell him to have some sense of ridicule and get into his own life...
When the girl's teeth began to pound so hard he could hear and she gave the first sneeze, Mike sighed.
Oh well, what the hell.
Opening his suitcase, Mike noticed when she looked at him with curious eyes. He opened it and searched for the warmest coat he could find. He removed one of his favorites and felt a slight tightness in his heart because he probably would never have it back. Seeing her hug her wet legs, he quickly reacted.
"Hm... hi."
She looked at him and Mike automatically felt conscious of all of his appearance. The freckles. The height. The bad posture.
"I saw you got caught in the rain and I-huh ... well I did not want it to be cold."
He handed her the coat and her eyes grew a little larger. She looked at him a bit confused and answered a slight:
"For me?".
Her voice trailed down Mike's spine, causing him to shiver.
"Yes, yes ... er ... I have my suitcase and it's not like I need more coats. I mean, my mother is a maniac because you know, I do not think she can see that one coat is enough for a body and I do not need fifteen, especially if they are those horrible Christmas sweaters. "
For God's sake, shut up. Stop talking about your mother.
She did not laugh at him as he thought she would. Her pretty hands with nails painted light pink took the coat lightly and she ran her fingers over the soft fabric. She rubbed it lightly on her own face and gave him a light smile that made him hold onto one of the bars of the subway so he would not trip over his own feet.
"It's very kind of you," she replied. She wore Mike's coat and he could not help but smile at how adorable she looked with that coat that was clearly three times her size.
"You're welcome," he replied, his cheeks a little red. A wave of courage took over him and before he could stop himself, he said, "It's wet where you are, and it's where the air conditioning hits. If you want to sit down with me, it's warmer."
When those brown eyes looked at him again, he instantly regretted it.
"I do not want you to think I gave you the coat for you to sit with me, it was just a stupid idea, you sit where you want ... "
She giggled and smirked. He felt less of an idiot.
"Of course," she replied and stood up. She was still wet, but she looked warmer. She walked a few steps and sat in the chair in front of him. "What's your name?".
"My name?" He stammered. Shit, what was his name again? "Mike. Mike Wheeler".
"I'm Jane," she said, giving him her hand. "Jane Hopper."
When they shook hands, Mike felt his body warm.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jane."
"It's my pleasure," Jane replied with a smile. "So tell me, Mike Wheeler, do you usually loan your coat to all helpless girls or is it just me?".
With a nervous laugh, Mike blushed.
"Well, just with you... Er, I mean, I could not just leave you there freezing to death."
"It was very nice of you. Really. Do you live here?".
"Oh no, actually I live in Boston. I'm here visiting some friends."
Jane's eyes widened and she jumped slightly.
"Do you live in Boston? Me too!".
"Are you kidding me?".
"No, I've been living there for five years."
Mike smiled and ran a hand through his hair. Here was this beautiful girl talking to him, smiling at him, and they lived in the same town! What were the odds?
"What are the chances of us meeting here?" He asked. Jane laughed, wrinkling her lovely nose, and Mike's chest tightened.
"I know, it's a last-minute trip for me, actually. My dad's a cop here in town, and he was shot in one of the operations."
"Oh my God, is he okay?!".
"Oh yes, don't worry!" Jane replied, waving one of her hands. "Old Jim Hopper is tough in the fall. There was him, laying in bed after surgery, almost giving me a heart attack and all he wanted was a cigarette. I let him rest there and I was going to his house by the subway when the rain caught me by surprise. "
"It's funny," Mike said. "I should have taken a bus that would leave me here before sundown, but I lost it. Being here was my mistake."
"What a coincidence," Jane murmured. "It's as if everything had gone wrong for us to find each other."
Mike was almost sure she was flirting with him. Almost. But it's probably something from his head. Not in a million years would the girl with the most beautiful smile he ever seen flirt with him. Finding a way to change the subject before he blushed to the roots of his hair, Mike noticed something on her wrist.
"Cool tatoo" he commented. Just below the fist was the number eleven tattooed simply. Jane looked at her own tattoo and smiled.
"Thank you. I have it for a long time."
"Does it mean something?" He asked. His mother's voice murmured behind his mind: you're too curious for your own good, Michael.
"Actually, yes," she replied. "Eleven is my lucky number, mainly because of my father. I was eleven years old when I was adopted by him. It was the eleventh house that housed me for social work. Eleven is how he calls me sometimes. I prefer".
Mike gave her a small smile. Eleven matched her, more than Jane. This was a beautiful name, but very serious and common. Nothing in this girl should be characterized as something that passes through the crowd without attention.
"Eleven is cool, it suits you," he murmured. Before he could stop himself, he said, "Maybe I can call you El, short for Eleven."
"Do you want to give a nickname for my nickname?" she asked with reddened cheeks. Mike was shy and laughed nervously. Jane smiled. "I liked it, Mike. A lot. You can call me that".
Suddenly, a recording and a loud sound warned the next station.
"Oh, it's my station" said Jane, sounding discouraged. Mike felt regret. He would probably never see her again. She was fun and clever and he would like to see her again. Shall he call her out? Lucas's voice echoed in his mind: good old Mike Wheeler who falls in love at first sight with all the pretty girls. Before he could say anything, Jane asked:
"Do you have a pen?".
"Oh yeah!" Mike replied, groping his pockets. He was ashamed to admit that the nerd stereotype was embodied in him by finding the pen in the front pocket of his shirt. "Here".
Suddenly, she did the last thing he hoped for. Picking up the pen, Jane grabbed his right arm and wrote about it. Mike felt his heart beat faster and his face red and hot. When the subway stopped, she got up, picked up her wet things from the floor, and returned the pen to him.
"So I can return your coat," she said, smiling, then winked at him. She waved him a final good-bye and got out.
Mike looked at his forearm and smiled widely. Just above a phone number, El Hopper was written with a delicate handwriting.