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Mike is beautiful.
His hair curls, framing his face perfectly. His eyes shine, despite being dark pools that I can’t help but get lost in. His smile, god, his smile. It lights up any room, but most of all, it lightens me up. He’s slim, but in the most perfect way possible. He also towers over me, and I have to look up at him through long eyelashes to see how he laughs at my jokes, but I love it.
I love him, way past the point a best friend should. He doesn’t know though, and I don’t think I’ll ever tell him.
It hurts, but having Mike be in a happy relationship with El is all I could wish for. I just want them both to be happy, even for the sake of my own happiness. It’s far from easy to deal with though.
Mike is so beautiful that it pains me. I crave his glances, his grin, his everything to a point it hurts even being around him. Hearing when he and El had an argument back in Hawkins (a petty one, one that easily fixed itself), it made my heart ache. It’s always about El, not us. I can’t blame him, but it still stings nonetheless.
Some days it was easier hiding how I feel, but with the move to California, I haven’t had to worry. I hide my deep affection for Mike within my paintings, even if it’s unconscious. I can’t help it, I’m head over heels. It’s stupid.
Now that crap is starting up again with the Upside Down, and we are headed back to Hawkins, these days have been worse. I’d been so used to not seeing Mike at all that now that he’s here by my side in the van, his presence cements this longing feeling in my chest. It doesn’t fade, never has. It makes it hard to breathe, and with the added pressure of finding El, I feel like I’m suffocating. Nobody notices though. It doesn’t surprise me that they don’t anymore.
Looking at Mike from my side of the van, he stares out the window. He’s the same old Mike, just filled out. It’s not to say I didn’t grow a lot while away from him too, but Mike just got even more… gorgeous. His hair has grown down to his shoulders, a surprising thing as Karen never seemed to like boys with longer hair. She always called them ‘too girly’ for it. I never minded though. Mike also dresses a bit differently, rid of the old button-up and khaki style his parents enforced on him. He wears plain t-shirts now, another baggy shirt or jacket on top, and jeans. He still rocks his old converse, something I’ll always find comforting. I gave them to him as a birthday present before we moved.
I snap out of my gaze when the van swerves, and the back of my head hits the window. Everyone in the van groans. “Sorry bros, this guy was going super slow and I had to pass,” Argyle laughs. I wince, touching where my head had been viciously hit. That’ll leave a bruise.
“Dude! Now I’m gonna have a bruise on my forehead for days,” Mike grumbles. Still holding the back of my head, I thread my hand through my hair before dropping my it, “Same here.”
Jonathan pipes in too, voice a bit slurred, but all he does is giggle at Argyle. I roll my eyes, of course the two idiots are high on the Purple Palm Tree Delight in the middle of the desert.
I take a chance and look at Mike again. He’s now sitting forward, hand gently cradling his forehead, pain clearly written all over his face. Even when he’s hurt, he manages to look great.
“Hey,” I whisper, Argyle and Jonathan are now talking loudly about the ethics of dog cages in the front of the van. Mike turns to me, tilting his head a bit. I sigh, “You okay?”.
Mike looks at me like my head has fallen off.
“Uh, no? My head is pounding right now because of that idiot,” Mike seethes, eyes squinted at the offender. I chuckle quietly, even though Argyle and Jonathan are too out of it to even care why I’d be laughing, “No, I mean with… El.”
Mike's eyes fall to the ground, and he moves a bit in his seat. He’s hunched a bit over, so I lean forward a bit. I want so badly to comfort him, pat him on the back, hug him, but I don’t even know if that’s okay anymore.
When Mike walked up towards El and I in the airport, it was like the stars aligned. It dawned on me that he’s back in my life, even if it’s only for a bit. I clutched my painting for him in my hand, waiting for his mutual excitement, but all I got was an awkward hug. El wasn’t even acting as excited as I was, it hurt so much to know she got so much more than me. I’m selfish, but I didn’t choose to love Mike Wheeler. His stupid freckled cheeks, his stupid hair, his beauty decided to wrap me around his finger. He eventually apologized to me for all he did prior to the house being shot up, but I still feel a rift between us. I may be in love with him, but I’d never sacrifice our friendship for it, if that’s what this is anymore.
Our friendship is awfully broken despite quick amends. I can feel it, and I’m sure he can too. It’s awkward, weird, nothing like how it used to be. I hate it.
“No, I’m… I’m worried man,” Mike rubs his forehead before moving his hand to fidget with his pants. It takes me a second to realize he responded, and I frown.
Mike's demeanor is dejected, a lot more tired than he usually likes to portray. Even with a cracked relationship, it doesn’t take a lot for me to pick up on his nervous habits, or the droop of his eyes. I can’t blame him for it either, I’m worn out, mentally and physically.
I gulp, scooting a bit closer. It takes me a bit of courage, but I break the ice and rub his back. I can feel him jolt, surprised by my touch, but he slowly unwinds.
“I know she’s okay, I have a good feeling. She’s incredibly strong. It may seem like she isn’t as strong as she used to be because of Angela, but trust me, she’s the strongest person I know.”
Mike huffs, shaking his head, “That’s not what I’m worried about.” My eyebrows furrow, “What do you mean?” Mike looks up at me, eyes red from stress, “I… I don’t know. I think I hurt her before the police came and I don’t think I can come back.”
My hand pauses on his back, and I shift closer. He finally sits a bit upright to watch me with a look of vulnerability in his eyes, and I open up my arms. It’s been so long since I’ve invited him in for a hug, but I think we both need it right now.
He hesitantly wraps his arms around my waist, and my heart momentarily stops. I pull him into my chest, even though if he listened closely he could hear my heartbeat, and I squeeze him. He melts a bit into the hug, and it hits me just how much I missed this.
I begin to rub his back again, and it feels like the little cracks in our friendship mend a bit. I can feel his short, quick breaths he lets out into my chest, and I know he’s crying. I check to see if we’re being watched, finding a napping Jonathan and Argyle jamming out to a mixtape, and I decide to do something crazy. It’s crazy intimate, something I don’t think Mike would like under normal circumstances, but we’ve been through enough shit today.
I bring my arm up, feeling Mikes curls drag up my arm as I dig my hand into his hair. I hold him and carefully scratch his head, burying my face into his soft hair. He seems to tremble for a while longer, going stiff under my grasp, but relaxes quickly after. His breathing slows down, and now he just clings to me.
Every moment, even ones this raw and open, are sweet in their own way. Mike's sharp inhales are a reminder of how real the situation is, how real it is to hold Mike. It’s not often Mike allows himself to fall into someone, or take anyone's sympathy. For as long as I’ve known him, Mike will not let anyone touch his hair, hold him like this or see him cry, except me. I don’t even know if El’s seen him like this, but I assume this is something special we share. No matter how broken we are, or how far apart we grow, we always end up falling into each other all over again, grasping at each other like we’re the last people alive on Earth. It makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter.
Mike is the first one to pull away, but I still hold onto his hip. His eyes are bright red, contrasting his brown eyes. I give him a slight smile, wiping the remaining tears with my palm. His face is fire engine red, but I swear his face gets a bit darker after that.
“It’s okay, Mike. El loves you, and even though I’m not sure what’s going on between you guys, you both have a strong bond. You’ll be okay, don’t beat yourself up too much,” I push a strand of hair behind his ear, and he nods silently.
“Hey little dude! Can you like, pass me the bag in front of you?”
Mike and I jump away from each other, and I catch Argyle's incriminating grin. It’s maniacal, calculated.
“Uh, sure. Is it this?” I pick up a black bag laying half open in front of me, lifting it with shaky hands. Argyle stares at me, eyes boring through me. Does he know?
All he does is wink at me before snatching it from my hands, looking through it to find more joints zipped up in a small Ziploc bag. I flush, and Mike's eyes dart around the van. I scratch the back of my head, accidentally scratching my bruise. I groan, and Mike laughs.
“What?” I smile. He laughs harder, and I can feel my lips curve up. Seeing him happier makes me happy.
“Nothing,” he says, closing his eyes. He sits back against the seat, and he seems far more relaxed. I smile to myself, knowing I caused that.
“Sure, Wheeler,” I playfully remark, poking his arm. The air around us that once was frozen solid is now liquified. “Okay, Byers,” he bites back, no malice in his voice.
A giddy grin rests upon my face as I sit back, admiring the raven haired boy from my side of the van. We both drift off quickly after.