Chapter Text
October 31st, 1989. Hawkins, Indiana.
The room was spinning. His head was reeling. Neon circles of rainbow light clouded his vision, courtesy of the various disco lights placed sporadically over the house. Some Madonna song was being bumped through the speakers at the highest possible capacity of Steve Harrington’s stereo system, but it was all turning to static in his ears, the noise of the party crescendoing together into one loud, indistinguishable buzz that underscored his oncoming headache.
Mike Wheeler was absolutely trashed.
He’s stumbling through the house with unsteady feet, and as he nearly takes himself out on the upturned corner of a rug, somewhere in the back of his mind, he still has the common sense to realize that he shouldn’t have drank so much. He shouldn’t have drank so quickly. Stupidly of all, he shouldn’t have drank while the contents of his stomach boasted only the half-digested nutrients of a Twinkie and approximately four Bagel Bites.
In his crumbling defense, how was he supposed to know how strong that punch was?
Bright red and smelling sweetly of Hawaiian Punch, chock full of ice and fruit slices, swirling around in the cooler so invitingly, the innocent looking concoction had beckoned to him like a siren luring him into a vast ocean of unknown liquors and various mixers.
“Jungle juice,” Will had determined with a thoughtful nod, “I wonder what they put in it.”
“Only one way to find out,” Mike raised his eyebrows at the other as if to say, if you’re in, I’m in.
The plastic rims of two red solo cups were soon knocking together. Taking one long swig out of that cup was just about one of the last things he could remember. Now Will was gone. Where did he say he was going again? He should find him. He should find El, too. He needed to find somebody, before he wandered off alone too far and fell right off the edge of the earth.
He missed an hour ago, when he could walk in a straight line and blink without falling into a vortex behind his own eyelids. It was only an hour ago that he had arrived at the Harrington household with a clear head, a clean liver and high expectations to have a great night. Now he only had the latter of those things left, and it was hanging on by a thread.
When he walked in, it was clear that decorating had not been Steve’s top priority. What the party lacked in seasonally appropriate decor, however, it made up for in atmosphere, and enough booze to give a hundred or so teenagers and young adults hangovers that would last until next year. There were a few lost looking pumpkins and skeletons scattered around, and a couple bowls full of candy to keep the theme, but truthfully, no one was here to celebrate the actual holiday anyway. They were here to get absolutely obliterated. To forget what happened two years ago, and any other worries that might have stricken them since.
For some, it was also an excuse to look as hot as possible. Despite the scarce decorations, the guests in attendance made this unmistakably a Halloween party. Almost everyone had some manner of costume on, from the cool dudes wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket claiming to be bikers, to the girls in french maid outfits, to the people wearing mockingly cartoonish political figure masks.
Mike had opted for something a little closer to his heart. Tonight, he was Luke Skywalker: brave and stalwart hero. Specifically, he was referencing his outfit from Return of the Jedi. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but wearing all black and carrying that homemade green lightsaber prop made him feel kind of cool.
Being a loner at a party, however, was not so cool. He needed to find his friends, but he was realizing now that he had no idea what he was looking for. The group wasn’t as organized as they might have been in previous years, his friends having long grown out of making sure they were always perfectly coordinated. Lucas usually wanted to match with Max, and Dustin with his new girlfriend, so a full group costume was often out of the question. Sometimes they agreed on a loose theme and kind of just went with it. They’re all going as movie protagonists this year, he thinks.
Of course, he had debated with himself about asking El to match with him, like they sometimes did, but then he reconsidered. He thought it might be weird, since they were currently on one of their many, many breaks.
They weren’t fighting, it wasn’t like that at all. The two of them were always friendly with each other during their off periods. It was like they couldn’t decide whether or not they were better off being friends or something more. They treated their relationship like an old computer that was constantly shutting down. Freezing up or overheating. Failing, over and over.
Have you tried turning it off and on again?
Every time they started having issues, that’s what they did, and every time they started to get a little too lonely, old habits gnawing at their tethered heartstrings, they’d come together to try one more miserable time.
Mike politely squeezed himself in between Strawberry Shortcake and Ronald Reagan, pushing past the mob to find even one familiar face. He had been a little late to the party, so much of the crowd was already drinking, dancing, making out, or somehow doing all three at once. It smelled heavily of booze and sugar everywhere, and if Mike wasn’t mistaken, a hint of pot, too.
“Hey! Mike Skywalker!”
A voice shouted out from behind. Finally, someone familiar had found him first. When he turned around, he saw his best friend pushing through the crowd to get to him. Will Byers, dressed in khaki pants, a brown leather jacket, and a wide brim fedora. There was a whip attached to his side. The tan button-up underneath his jacket had quite a few buttons popped open, showing a small surface area of his chest.
“Indiana Byers,” Mike nodded down in recognition, eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of the other, “looks good. The costume looks good, I mean.”
What else would he mean?
“Thanks, yours looks pretty cool too,” his friend offered with a smile, then gestured to the lightsaber, “did you make that yourself?”
Mike held up his reason for being late: a lot of plastic tubing, paper towel rolls, tape and glue stuck together in one charmingly handmade and overall halfway decent looking prop.
“Yeah, yeah just… just a last minute addition I thought… I thought it wouldn’t be obvious enough who I was without it, I don’t know,” he explained it off, already knowing it wasn’t exactly his best work. He didn’t want his friend’s eyes to linger long enough to notice how shabby the details really were.
“Are you kidding?” Will asked, “of course it’s obvious. It looks great.”
“Thanks,” Mike nodded, lips twitching upwards towards a smile of pride, one he didn’t allow to fully reach his face, “so where is everyone else?”
“You haven’t run into anyone yet?”
“Uhh no, I kind of just got here so, you’d be the first,” Mike said, then gestured vaguely towards the rest of the house, “I guess we should probably go look for them.”
Sharing a nod, the two walked through the dense party, occasionally bumping shoulders with one another as they tried to stay close. There was a sea of people in here, and it felt like one of them could be pulled away with the tide at any moment.
“Man, did Steve invite the whole town?” Mike mumbled, mostly to himself. Will picked up on the words anyway.
“He always tries to outdo himself. Like, it always has to be the party of the year, you know?”
If being the party of the year was measured by how many people were throwing up in toilets and trash cans everywhere, Steve was definitely winning that title.
Mike grimaced suddenly and put an arm out behind him, grabbing Will by the shoulder and pulling him out of the splash zone of some Care Bear puking rainbow into a potted plant.
“Gross,” Will commented, “let’s definitely not get that drunk.”
“Yeah,” Mike agreed, “definitely.”
They were just crossing into the dining room when a loud round of cheers erupted from a segmented portion of the crowd, hovering around the dining table. Taking a closer look, the table appeared to be set up for a game of beer pong. Mike tried to look over the heads of the mob to see who was playing, but Will caught a glance first.
“Hey, I think that’s them,” Will said, nudging Mike in the arm, “let’s check it out.”
Mike led the way, excusing them both past the wall of people until they could see their friends clearly. Dustin and Lucas were at one end of the table, playing against Max and El. From the looks of the table and from the reactions of the crowd, Dustin and Lucas had just lost miserably, while Max and El cheered and high-fived one another, not a single one of their cups missing from their side of the table.
“She’s cheating, she’s gotta be,” Lucas complained, throwing his arms out in frustration. He was dressed in a black and white striped suit, a hint of temporary spray-on color making just the tips of his hair bright green. He was Beetlejuice, clearly matching with Max across the table, who was wearing Lydia’s bright red wedding dress.
“You aren’t using your powers, are you El?” Dustin questioned, looking something like Westley from The Princess Bride. Mike could only assume his girlfriend was somewhere around here, dressed as Buttercup. “We said no powers.”
“Yes, no powers,” El confirmed.
“You’re not lying?”
“Friends don’t lie.”
“Alright, rematch,” Lucas demanded, shaking his head in disbelief, already starting to lay out their cups back into a pyramid shape.
“Careful there, Lucas,” Max warned flirtatiously, “I might start to think you just enjoy losing to me.”
El was the first one to spot their two new spectators.
“Oh! Mike! Will! Hello,” she beamed and rushed over while the table was being reset.
Face to face with her, it suddenly dawned on Mike what she was wearing. Khaki pants. Brown leather jacket. Fedora. Her hair was tied up into a ponytail and tucked underneath the hat, giving her a more masculine appearance.
“Oh, you…” Mike trailed off.
“Hey, we match!” Will cut in with a laugh, “that’s awesome.”
Mike looked stunned.
“What? You do not like it?” El asked curiously, “he is a movie protagonist. Like you said. Max told me I would look good.”
“No, yeah yeah yeah, you do, I mean– it’s cool, it’s really cool,” Mike stuttered, shaking the disbelief out of his face, “just, yeah. I mean, wow. What are the odds you guys would pick the same thing? That’s cool though.”
He’s never realized it before, but now seeing them side by side in nearly the exact same outfit, he can’t help but notice. They looked remarkably similar. He knew it on some level; everyone always said they looked like they could be twins and that was great. It meant nobody ever questioned the validity of them being siblings.
But he’s never really seen it before. Not like this.
“And who are you supposed to be?” she asked, tilting her head at him.
“Uh… Luke Skywalker,” Mike said, brandishing his lightsaber. Wasn’t it obvious? He guessed she might not have seen that movie. She still had a lot of catching up to do when it came to pop culture.
“Oh,” she said simply with an idle smile, “it is nice.”
“El, come on!” Max yelled over the music, waving her over, “round two. You ready?”
When she saw who El was talking to she perked up in recognition, flashing a smile and a friendly wave to the two boys.
“Oh hey– You guys wanna lose next? These guys are gonna have to tap out soon.”
“Hey, we aren’t quitting yet,” came a determined yet slightly aggravated reply from Dustin.
Mike and Will shared a look, Will chuckling under his breath.
“Maybe in a bit,” Will called back.
“So... you discovered you’re good at beer pong?” Mike asked Eleven casually.
“Yes,” she smiled widely, “I am good at throwing ping pong balls into cups from a short distance. It is extremely easy.”
Mike let a chuckle fly past himself.
“Alright, I guess I’ll let you get back to it, then,” he said, nodding to their three other friends who were still waiting, “go easy on them, okay?”
“No promises,” she turned away with a knowing smile.
“So…” Mike turned back to Will, “looks like we’re two of the only sober people left in this house by now.”
“Oh yeah, definitely. Have you seen our host yet?”
“Steve? No, I haven’t. Have you?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to him, because he was doing a handstand on a keg when I saw him.”
Mike looked at him for a second with raised eyebrows before he burst out laughing, and Will joined him.
Truthfully though, he didn’t blame Steve, or any of their friends, for kicking back and mellowing out when they could. They all went through something unimaginably horrifying, and though it had been two years since they sealed all the portals for good, no amount of time that passed could ever fully settle their nerves. They didn’t like to talk about it, but they all recognized it in each other; the twist of panic that went through them all whenever the lights flickered. He knew the same thought crossed all of their minds every now and again, despite all reasonable logic.
What if he comes back?
Mike shook the thoughts away. Will has never once felt his presence since that day, so they were safe. Yet, somehow, it still felt dangerous to let his guard down. Tonight though, he wasn’t going to let those thoughts get the better of him. Or better yet, he was going to drink until the thoughts were drowned out entirely.
“Okay, well, we’re not going to do anything like that, but we should get a drink,” he said, starting to walk off towards the kitchen with the other.
“Wait, we’re not doing kegstands?” Will asked, obviously joking.
“Hey man, you can do whatever you want but don’t bring me into it,” Mike teased back.
“No way, you’d be way better at it,” he insisted.
“Me? You’re crazy.”
“I mean it, I’ll hold your legs for you and everything,” he joked with a grin, elbow bumping Mike in the ribs lightly.
“Hah. Yeah right,” Mike turned away, not knowing why the idea made him feel something along the lines of… maybe embarrassment? He dismissed the idea.
When they reached the kitchen, the countertop was like a graveyard of garbage. Every square inch was littered with used solo cups and liquor bottles of varying degrees of fullness, ranging from nearly untouched to completely empty. Any free space was inexplicably sticky. Mike watched in disgust as a couple, attached at the lips, backed up and hit the counter. The guy lifted the girl up onto the marble top, knocking over a flurry of trash, all the while never disconnecting from the kiss. Mike made no attempt to hide his sour face.
Then they spotted the cooler.
Jungle juice. Two cups knocking together. A blur of sweet fruit juice that perfectly masked the bite of the alcohol lurking underneath, fooling him into thinking that he wasn't drinking that much. This part he remembers.
“Wow, that’s–” Mike started, trying to find the words to describe the experience. It tasted strongly of something, but not necessarily of alcohol. It had an extreme sweetness and an acidic bite that drowned every tastebud on his tongue, and a kick of sour on the aftertaste. It sort of tasted like someone dumped every single flavour of Kool-Aid packet into the tub, and there wasn’t nearly enough liquid in the concoction to balance it out to the proper ratio.
“That’s really good,” Will commented, and of all the words Mike was thinking of, good probably wasn’t his first pick.
It wasn’t all that bad, either.
“Intense,” is what he settled on, his face still scrunched up. He wasn’t about to wuss out, though, especially when Will was drinking it so easily, swallowing the whole first cup like it was water.
Mike sucked in his lower lip as he watched, feeling something bubble in the pit of his stomach as he did. Probably all that sugar.
He finished the rest with some sudden motivation, the two of them refilling their cups before they had to move out of the way. The kitchen was heavy for foot traffic, dozens of people scrambling to find their next drink, pouring anything and anything into their cups, desperate not to lose their buzz.
“We should get out of here,” Mike suggested, “don’t wanna get trampled.”
Will nodded in agreement. Neither of them wanted to be standing in the way of a drunk teenager and their quest to keep sobriety at bay.
They moved through the house, mainly looking for somewhere to sit down and relax. They weren’t huge party people, but their old tradition of trick or treating together every year had to be replaced by something, and being that it was their own friend’s party, of course they had to make an appearance. Besides, an excuse to drink away their memories and feel a little lighter for one night was as good a way as any to spend the holiday. So though they didn’t dance, didn’t play any drinking games, and didn’t do any kegstands, they did like to sit. Just hang out, have a drink, enjoy the company, talk about anything.
Being as crowded as it was tonight, though, it was proving difficult to find adequate seating for two.
There was one seat in the whole living room available; an empty recliner chair in the corner. It would probably easily fit two people sitting next to each other, if they were squished together. Like a couple or something. Not ideal for a pair of friends, and Mike was going to pass on the spot when Will made the decision for them, approaching the chair with no hesitation.
Will turned back when he noticed Mike wasn’t following, tilting his head at him questioningly.
“You can have the seat, it’s okay,” he said, sitting on the armrest of the chair, a completely normal and simple solution to the problem. Mike internally scolded himself, realizing he was in fact the only one making things weird for no reason.
Get a grip, Wheeler. Two friends can sit on a chair. And you’re friends. You’re friends.
He sat down, careful not to spill the full drink in his hand. He took a sip to lower the liquid’s level.
Out the window, Mike could see the Harrington’s backyard, and their swimming pool, all lit up for the night. There were at least half a dozen people in the pool, some disrobed, and some with their costumes still fully on. He cringed as someone else got pushed in, making a huge splash. That must be freezing.
“I’m kind of jealous of Steve, having this much freedom,” Will said suddenly, looking around the room and taking a sip of his drink, “I mean– I know it must suck too, having absent parents and all– and I love my mom, so much, but sometimes I wish she cared a little less, you know?”
Mike surveyed the expression on Will’s face, trying to discern the severity of his words. If he was trying to open up a serious conversation or simply making a throwaway comment. He didn’t look too particularly bothered about the issue right now, so Mike assumed it was the latter.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he agreed, even though his mom wasn’t nearly as overbearing as Joyce was, “what’d you tell her this time, by the way?”
“Your house. She thinks we still play D&D, you know.”
Mike’s attention was briefly drawn to a group of guys roughhousing nearby, pushing each other around and laughing.
“Special Halloween campaign, huh?” he asked, eyes locked onto the group.
“It was that or tell her that we, as a group of eighteen year olds, were going trick-or-treating.”
Mike briefly looked back at Will, who was already looking at him and smiling.
“She’d love to hear that,” he said with a knowing grin and taking a long sip of his drink.
“Oh yeah, she’s… kind of having a hard time with accepting that we aren’t all twelve anymore.”
“Well, if you ever feel like you can’t breathe over there, you know my door’s always open.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“We should get you a key, or something,” Mike said casually, taking another long drink.
“Really?”
“Yeah, of course,” he nodded emphatically, “you practically live there half the time anyway.”
“Oh, right,” Will said awkwardly, hiding his expression in the bottom of his cup as he finished the drink. Mike immediately realized that it came out differently than intended.
“No no no, not like that,” Mike corrected himself, “I mean it’s not a bad thing. I like having you there.”
Will didn’t seem convinced, so he tried again.
“I like having you there.”
The two shared the softest of smiles. The gaze was broken by Mike first, who noticed that the roughhousing group had now resorted to throwing things at each other, and their next target was standing directly in front of their currently occupied chair. Mike noticed. Will didn’t.
“Mike, I—“
“Look out—!”
Mike cut the other off, grabbing Will by the arm and tugging him down just as a plastic water bottle soared past their heads, hitting the wall beside them with such force that it crushed itself on impact, an explosion of droplets raining down on them in a tepid waterfall.
“Shit…” Mike cursed.
“Oops! My bad, dudes!” came the lackluster apology, the group already turning their backs to ignore the situation entirely.
Meanwhile, Will had fallen entirely into Mike’s lap. Well, Mike had sort of pulled him down into his lap, but that wasn’t his fault. It’s not like he was trying to, but there was no choice. The water bottle would have hit Will in the face if he hadn’t. Now they were both wet, but it was better than the alternative. His friend was a fair amount wetter than he was, his position on top of him inadvertently shielding the other from the spray of water.
“Ugh…” Will groaned as he wiped his hand across his face, flicking droplets of water off his hand. Somehow, he found it within himself to laugh about the situation. “Thanks… that was a good save.”
“Uh, don’t mention it,” Mike replied, staring at the way the other was sprawled out on him, and suddenly he was breathing manually, “but could you…?”
His skin felt really really hot where Will was. It was stifling in here. It must have been all the bodies packed into one room, making it so uncomfortably warm.
“Yeah, sorry,” Will heaved himself up, shaking water out of his hair like a wet dog, “hey, at least it was water. Could’ve been way worse.”
“Yeah, totally,” Mike agreed with an awkward laugh. His lap burned where Will had been. The other’s body temperature must have been super high, or something.
“I’m gonna grab some paper towels or something, be right back.”
Mike kept staring into his lap as the other left. Then he swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp.
In retrospect, his concept of time at this point might have been way off, but it felt like he was waiting ages for Will to come back. The kitchen was right there anyway, so how long should it take? Like a few seconds? How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? Maybe, he thought, he should just go look for him.
When he stood up, it suddenly crashed down on him. How absolutely fucking wasted he really was. It was like all the alcohol in his system suddenly absorbed into his bloodstream at once, the feeling of intoxication all rushing to his head in an instant. He was dizzy. He couldn’t feel his feet touching the ground. His body felt light. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was floating. Where was Will?
“Shit…” he murmured to himself, squeezing his eyes shut in one slow, long blink, as if he was trying to reset his whirling vision. It was useless. He was orbiting around this whole room.
Will drank the exact same amount as he did, but somehow he seemed completely fine when he got up. That was so unfair. It was probably all that muscle absorbing the alcohol.
Wait, what?
Anyway.
Mike pushed through the crowd much less gracefully than before, knocking shoulders and stepping on feet, mumbling sorry’s and excuse me’s with so little energy that they were barely audible underneath the buzz of the party, making them useless.
He felt amazing and awful at the same time. Like a bullet could strike him through the chest at any moment and he wouldn’t feel a thing, but also like a gentle gust of wind might knock him over. Like he could fight the whole world and win, but also like he might throw up if he did.
Wait, how on earth did he end up outside?
The cool night air felt nice against his reddened face, alcohol-flushed cheeks burning hot. His costume was getting a little warm, too. Should he take it off? Mike’s hands grazed the side of the house, stabilizing himself as he stumbled across the yard. He was just about contemplating jumping into the Harrington’s pool when an angelic voice called out from behind him.
“Mike!”
The sound of someone calling his name with such concern struck him like an arrow through the heart. Oh, say his name again, beautiful voice.
He turned around and saw a familiar outfit. Indiana Jones was coming to rescue him. How nice.
“El!” he cheered happily, opening his arms out like he wanted a hug.
“Jesus, Mike, are you okay?” they asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
His vision was blurring so badly he saw three of them, but yeah, he was fine.
“M’good,” he slurred, letting his weight fall into the other, who received him in warm, strong arms. “Thank you… El…”
“It’s not El.”
“Eleven.”
“No.”
“...Jane?”
Indiana Jones sighed loudly and started walking Mike back into the house, presumably so they could find somewhere to sit him down and maybe make him drink some water. Mike couldn’t help but notice, tucked up under their arm, how nice they smelled today. Did El’s perfume always smell like that? There was something deep, almost musky about it. Something woodsy, but also something incredibly warm and welcoming.
“You smell good…”
The person stiffened and there was a silence from above.
“Uh. Thanks.”
Mike looked up in awe of the person, half-carrying him now. So strong. So nice. So pretty. How could he ever break up with someone like this?
“We should… get back together…” he mumbled, nuzzling his face into their shoulder.
A snort.
“We can’t do that, because we were never together, Mike.”
He doesn’t know why she keeps saying stuff like that. That wasn’t very nice.
“We’re going inside, watch your step here,” the angelic voice warned him, right before Mike immediately tripped over the steps to the house.
“Owww… piece of shit stairs…” he grumbled, making the other let out a laugh that was all twinkling stars and christmas bells, and suddenly it was worth it. He’s not sure what he did, but he’d trip over himself a thousand times over to hear it again. He’d be their personal jester to the end of time if it made them laugh like that.
He doesn’t realize he’s being made to sit down until he feels himself sinking down into couch cushions, so worn that for just a split second he swears he’s going to fall all the way through before they stop giving way. The embrace of the cushions is so soft and so gentle he almost feels like he’s sitting in a tub of… pudding… or something.
“…Pudding,” is what comes out, because the whole thought didn’t make its way out of his mouth.
“What?” his angel asked, confused, “nevermind. Just stay here for a second. Don’t move.”
“Wait wait wait wait wait wait…” the words rolled out of his mouth like one long plea all attached together on a thread, barely pronouncing the syllables in between. Mike reached out with his hand, blindly, depth perception failing him as he made several unsuccessful attempts to grab onto the person in front of him. “Don’t go.”
Eventually a hand reached back for him, and though it might have intended only to calm him, and maybe even to gently redirect his hand to his own lap, Mike instantly latched onto the touch, threading their fingers together and locking them there.
“I just need to leave for a second,” they negotiated with him, “I’ll be coming right back.”
“Nooo… you won’t find me…” Mike said worriedly. He tugged on their hand, once, then twice, then two times again quickly, trying to convince them to just sit down with him instead.
“I promise I will.”
No. He’d be lost if they let go of him, he knew it for sure. He’d continue to go adrift at sea, and then he’d be gone forever. He needed to stay attached to his lifeline.
“I’m lost,” he groaned, half formed thoughts once again leaking out of his lips, leaving on laboured breaths so deeply infused with intoxicants he’s pretty sure he could make someone else drunk by kissing them. He wanted to try.
Finally, finally, there was a weight sinking beside him, and Mike leaned into it instinctually. His body felt heavy, like he could fall right through the couch, the floor, and then the earth, too. Like he could keep falling forever unless he held on right now. He’s pretty sure the shoulder under his head is the only thing keeping him from slipping away.
“You’re not lost,” the voice murmured, “I’ll know where to find you, but you have to stay put.”
They were so warm, they felt like a personal heater against Mike’s skin. She’s not usually that warm. He’s usually the one trying to warm her up, but with both of them running a little low, it was always cold hands on cold hands, making each other lukewarm. This was a nice change.
“Do you wanna kiss?” he asked abruptly, remembering his thought from a few moments ago.
He was close enough to hear their breath catch in their throat; to feel the way their shoulder stiffened up. He looked up with cloudy eyes, catching a glimpse of the way they sucked in their lower lip, like they wanted to say yes, but something was stopping them.
“I’ll be right back,” they said, ignoring him entirely.
The weight and warmth pulled away all at once, Mike nearly falling over onto his side at the sudden loss. His complaints died in his lips when hands landed on his shoulders, straightening him up and pushing him back into the couch.
“Michael. Stay."
So forceful. Mike laughed about it breathily. Then he hiccuped about it, too.
He didn’t register the time passing, blinking in and out of existence until suddenly a cup was being pushed into his hand. He tried to smell it, but there was no scent.
“It’s just water,” they told him, “drink up, okay?”
Mike tried to, but his grip on the cup was weak, his fingers didn’t seem to want to listen to him. His hand-eye coordination must have been suffering, because he got more water down his chin than he did in his actual mouth, managing to swallow only about ten percent of what was in that cup. He successfully hydrated the outside of his skin and the top half of his costume, and none of his internal organs.
“Aw… shit…” he murmured, disappointed in himself, “sorry… sorry El.”
“It’s okay, we can try again.”
He honestly and truly has no idea where the second cup comes from, seemingly materialized out of nowhere. He didn’t even notice them getting up. Or did they think that far ahead and bring two?
“God, you’re great,” he said, exhaling through the statement, making the words come out sounding far more like a moan than he ever would have intended to.
“I’m just doing what any friend would do,” they brushed it off, “here, let me just…”
The rim of the cup was being raised to his lips. He opened his mouth and drank slowly, making what he was pretty sure was eye contact with the person tilting it towards him. Honestly though, it was pretty hard to see them clearly with everything spinning so fast.
He could tell they were gorgeous, though. Fragments of dark eyelashes and glimpses of beautifully chiseled bone structure flashed through his vision, and they were breathtaking.
“But–” Mike sputtered, pushing the cup away from his mouth, lips wet, “we’re more than friends."
They inhaled deeply and somehow still sounded out of breath when they murmured back, “please don’t say that.”
“Why? Why not?” he mumbled, closing his eyes and trying to find their hand with his face, nuzzling his cheek against rough knuckles. He nearly whined when the hand pulled away.
“Because you don’t mean it.”
He did though. He really did. Looking at them now, he had never been so certain of it in his life. He and El had always had their issues, but if he felt like this with her now, how could it ever be wrong? This warmth, this comfort, this safety, it wrapped around him in a way that was almost suffocating, and all he could do was succumb. He never wanted to leave this person’s side. He was being sucked in, in a way he didn’t know how to explain. Like a magnet being drawn to its counterpart, he had no choice in the matter. He kept leaning forward, trying to find them again.
The feeling he had been searching for his entire life was finally in reach, but it refused to reach back.
“I mean it…” he insisted, hopeless and desperate, pathetic and persistent, “please, this time I really…”
This time was different.
“Please, El…”
He swore it would be different.
“Can we just…”
Why did it feel so different?
“I need you.”
Their scent, their touch, their warmth.
“I need you.”
With every word he spoke, deep hazel eyes looked sadder and sadder. He didn’t understand it. He was only saying nice things. He wanted them to stop being so sad.
“I’m not El,” the voice said again, firmly.
The words hit Mike’s ears, but he didn’t seem to process them. He knew who they were and he was sure of it. He’d known those eyes his entire life. Their voice was so familiar. Their kindness was intertwined with his soul.
Black started to creep into the edges of his vision, just as he started to make a few revelations, ones that he wouldn’t remember tomorrow; fleeting thoughts passing by, lost to the end of the night.
The way their shirt was unbuttoned, a distinctly flat but toned area of chest exposed. The way their clothes were covered in an array of darkened circles, like they had been splashed with something. The way he could feel their voice vibrating from the lowest part of their chest, a tone so low and mellow that it seemed to silence all of Mike’s anxieties, making him feel a certain way that only one person in the world could.
He couldn’t afford that person not to be her.
“I need you…” he whispered one more time, looking directly into their eyes, and finally there’s a flicker of recognition. Somewhere deep in the subconscious of his mind, through the spinning and the whirling and the reeling, through the clouds in front of his eyes and the fog enveloping his brain, he knows exactly what he’s doing when he adds one more word. A security blanket to protect him from the reality of the confession. A safety net to catch him from the fall.
“...El.”