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The differences make themselves known slowly as the days go by.
El had done her best, over the course of the last couple of years, to bring her touches to the cabin. She had to be careful, for the first little while, to not overspend on unnecessary things. Financial responsibility was something she never had to concern herself with until now, but if she can save the world from interdimensional monsters, she can figure out money. And she did. With a steady paying job at the bakery, getting extra payments for making deliveries on a bike she had to teach herself to ride—a difficult task, since every time she climbed onto it, all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around the waist of a boy who wasn’t even on the same continent—El was able to figure life out.
Fresh flowers always sat on the center of the small table in the kitchen by the window, colorful cushions on the couch, trinkets she picked up from the bookstore. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Her things kept her company, even if her heart yearned for more.
Until Mike. Mike, who left everything and everyone behind to be with her. Who slowly started to make this place his own as well—that’s when she started to really notice the changes.
It started with her bed. There were only a few days where Mike would wake before her and when he did, oftentimes he would remain in bed, waiting for El to wake up. There would be a few occasions, however, that El’s eyes would flutter open while he was in the bathroom, and her gaze would instinctively go to his side of the bed. To the wrinkles left on the bedsheet and pillow, her hand running over it to smooth the creases over, taking a deep breath and smelling Mike’s faint shampoo, a sandalwood scent he started using once he arrived in Iceland. Fresh and woodsy and enough to make El’s stomach flip.
His scent clings to the sheets. When they once used to just smell of laundry detergent and El’s own strawberry scented bodywash, they now smell like Mike for the most part—or maybe El is just more in tuned to all things Mike. It’s as comforting as it is familiar, and by the time Mike returns from the bathroom, he finds her hugging his pillow, nose pressed into it like she wants to drown in the scent.
“Whatcha doing, pretty girl?” he asks, now freely using pet names that make El’s cheeks warm and smile widen. Mike has long since stopped hiding his feelings; he no longer shies away from using the words that he believes should be said. El knows it’s because he regretted not saying more during that night, not that she ever blames him for it. It’s a weight of guilt Mike carried for a while, but has taught himself from it. He speaks freely, unabashedly, always looking to make El smile or blush or laugh. She loves every bit of it.
El squints an eye open to look up at him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her with the warmth he has only for her, as his fingers brush her dark strands of hair away from her face. “Waiting for you to come back,” she answers, letting go of the pillow only to hold her arms out, waiting for him to get into them.
Mike’s grin widens, a subtle pink spreading across his cheeks as he obliges. El giggles as Mike climbs over her, letting El wrap her arms around her shoulders and he makes an attempt to keep his weight off of her, but she pulls him down. A content breath escapes her before she hums at the warmth of his body, one hand slipping up into his hair.
“Better?” he asks, his lips moving against her neck, dragging his nose along the skin and making her shudder.
El’s head turns, gaze sliding to Mike’s side of the bed, bathed in the sunlight that slips through the gap of the curtains. The small hills made from the creases where he laid. When it was just her, the other side always remained flat, untouched. She hated it. The creases on the other side of the bed are a reminder of Mike’s presence. She loves it.
El squeezes him closer, feels his smile growing against her skin as she replies, “Better.”
The next thing she notices, after her bed, is the bike. Or, bikes.
They don’t have a car—El doesn’t have an interest in learning to drive, and she and Mike decided that they won’t get one until they absolutely need it. El had taught herself—it had resulted in many scrapes and bruises when she forced herself not to use her powers to keep herself from falling over. It had resulted in tears of frustration, at first, until—
Until she would hear Mike’s voice in her head. Soft and gentle and encouraging, whispers of you got this and I know you can do it. Enough to get her right back up, grip the handlebars tightly, and just go. After her first successful ride, all El wanted to do was tell Mike. She knew he would be proud of her.
That night, she found him missing him more than normal. She had given in—turned on the radio to static, put on a blindfold, and went to find him for the first time.
It nearly broke her, seeing him for the first time. She hadn’t looked for him again for months after that.
Her bike had been her first big purchase. Purple in color, with a white wicker basket that had white and yellow daisies stuck to it. She took care of it religiously; made sure the tires always had air, that it was protected under the porch when it rained. Groceries would sit in the basket or the bags would hang from the bars. The wind caresses her cheeks, dances through her hair, and the air is fresh and cool in her lungs and it makes her feel alive.
Every time she rode her bike, down the streets of this picturesque little town, El would often think of how much Mike would love it here. He would be much faster on his bike down these streets, but would always wait for her, no doubt.
She loves her bike—she loves it even more now that it’s part of a pair.
Mike was quick to purchase his own bike when he got here. It was almost comical, him riding her bike with her on the back, to go into town to the bicycle store, but they made it work. El had felt right at home on the bike with him. Her arms were home around his waist, her front to his back as he pedaled them around, just like did when they were younger. His bike was a deep blue color, so dark it was almost black, like the one he had back in Hawkins. No basket, but a seat large enough for El to sit on, even if she has her own.
El slows down as she and Mike return from their hike, walking up the dirt path leading up to the porch of the cabin. The world slows down around her as her gaze narrows in on the two bikes, parked up against the porch. His, a little larger and darker, hers smaller and brighter in color.
His and hers, she thinks faintly, recalling the term from a movie she had seen. Not so alone anymore. No longer riding these streets by herself, keeping company with herself. Yet another visual reminder of his presence.
El hasn’t realized she’s stopped until Mike, only three steps ahead of her, pauses and turns around. “Hey, you okay?” he asks, already making his way back to her, backpack slung over one shoulder. His dark hair is a little windswept, the summertime sun bringing his freckles out, and El’s heart flips because, oh, he’s so handsome and he’s all hers.
She nods, her smile coming easily as she tips her head back enough to meet his gaze. “I’m alright,” she reassures. Her words smooth out the subtle furrow of his eyebrows, his expression relaxing. With a tilt of her head, she asks, “Do you want to go biking tomorrow?”
A smile breaks across Mike’s face, eyebrows rising like he’s only a little surprised by her request. “Yeah, of course,” he nods. “Wanna make a picnic out of it?”
Her grin widens. “Yes.”
“Done.” He leans forward, the perfect height to easily press a kiss to her forehead. Her skin tingles where his lips touch it. “Now come on—I need to take a shower. I stink,” he adds, making a face that makes her laugh as his hand grasps her.
“No, you don’t,” she says, letting him pull her towards their cabin.
Mike tosses her a look over his shoulder, his grin teasing. “Friends don’t lie.”
Her laugh trails after them as they walk up to the cabin, and El doesn’t hesitate to reach out to brush her fingers along the handlebar of Mike’s bike as she passes, a wistful smile touching her lips. It’s right where it belongs.
The shelf in the living room is what she notices next.
At first, El filled it with books that interested her—as well as books that could help her. Romance books that made her blush and giggle, comic books she remembers Max talking about, cookbooks to find recipes she can try out, a dictionary, and a few Icelandic translation books that have served her well. She bought a few movies, too. VHS tapes lining up the bottom shelf of movies she has watched many times over, but they never get old because the joy never gets old.
Mike adds his own favorites to the collection, too. VHS tapes of Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Ghostbusters, Top Gun—though, the last one, El thinks, he regrets getting after El stared a little too long at Tom Cruise. Science fiction and fantasy books sit with her romance novels. El’s favorite books, though, are the ones with the spines that read Mike’s name. Books he has written about their adventures as children, books that started with endings that left more questions than answers before becoming books that wrapped the stories up prettily.
All books that are dedicated to El. Famous books that have made him a well known name. Books that have made her so proud of him. The spines are worn because of how many times she has read them.
There are records now, too, on the shelf. While El had only ever used the radio when she wanted to listen to music, from cassettes she purchased from the music store next to the bookshop, Mike bought a record player to change things up. Michael Jackson, The Police, Prince, ABBA, Cyndi Lauper—music she is familiar with, but there’s something different hearing it on the record player.
Leaning against the side of the shelf is a guitar that Mike got recently. Like El, he has picked up other hobbies as well; while he spends most of his time writing, as both a hobby and job—though, he’s made more than enough from his books for them to live comfortably for a long while—he will often sit on the couch or on the back porch strumming the guitar. El may not know much, or anything, about playing an instrument, but she thinks Mike sounds pretty good as he strums tunes she has heard before, or ones he makes up on the spot. She loves listening to him play while she knits or reads a book.
Tonight, it’s Mike’s turn to pick the movie, and so they sit on the couch with a blanket over them both as The Outsiders plays out before them. She’s intrigued by the movie, finds kinship with the greasers, wants to see how the story plays out because Mike really likes the movie, but she finds herself getting distracted by Mike—not unusual, but she’s trying to be good. It’s his movie night, and he was really excited for her to watch this film—except Mike keeps absently running his fingers up and down her arm as she sits nestled into his side.
Somehow, she manages to make it through the movie. She sits with her legs resting on top of Mike’s, his own legs stretched forward and feet resting on the coffee table. She sheds some tears over Johnny’s and Dally’s deaths, and when the credits roll, El lightly smacks Mike’s chest and laments, “Why would you make us watch such a sad movie?”
“I thought you’d like it!” She hears Mike’s gentle laugh as she presses her hands to her face, hoping to get rid of her tears.
“Nothing good about a sad ending,” El scoffs just as she feels Mike’s hands carefully circle her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face.
“You’re right,” he agrees, a thumb rubbing circles over her pulse point. His eyes are so soft, so warm, as he tilts his head and asks, “How can I make it up to you?”
El lets out a quiet laugh, heart melting at his puppy dog eyes. In the soft lighting of the living room, both of them bathed in a warm golden glow, El’s heart jumps as she asks quietly, “Can we dance?”
Mike’s gaze flickers between hers, dropping down to her lips before meeting her eyes again. The corners of his mouth lift as he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, we can.”
He gets up and walks towards the record player, sitting on a small table of its own next to the shelf, and El stands as Mike crouches and, after a brief moment of perusing, picks a record. She doesn’t get a chance to see it as Mike puts the vinyl CD on the record player, and El moves towards the center of the living room, the carpet soft beneath her bare feet, as the needle on the record scratches before a gentle, melodic beat starts playing, a lulling piano as Mike meets her halfway with a smile dancing on his lips.
El’s pulse skitters as he takes her right hand in his left, her other coming to rest on his shoulder while his free arm slides around her waist to pull her closer. They’re in their pajamas, El’s hair loose in its waves down her shoulders, and Mike—who never wants to dance unless it’s with her—starts swaying them as the lyrics come in.
I’ve never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight,
I’ve never seen you shine so bright—
“The Lady in Red,” Mike says quietly, bringing El’s gaze up to him. Off her questioning look, he clarifies, “That’s the name of the song.”
She finds herself smiling, glancing down at herself knowingly. She’s in a red tank top with matching pajama shorts, her cheeks warming. El slips her hand from her shoulder up to his hair, which has grown a little longer. She looks up at him with a smile she can’t stop from widening, especially when he’s looking at her like that. “You’re such a romantic, Mike Wheeler.”
His own grin is wide, and he will always be that twelve year old boy who found her in the woods, but in that moment, he especially looks like the younger version of himself. Mike shifts their hands so instead of them being just palm to palm, holding one another, his long fingers are slotting in between hers. “Only for you, El Hopper.”
El pushes herself up on her toes, head tipping towards Mike, and he gets the message—of course he does. He knows her well, knows her best. A soft breath escapes his smiling lips before he ducks his head to kiss her. El’s heart thunders. The song keeps playing. Their bodies continue to sway. In the quiet of the night, El finds out it’s possible to fall in love with Mike Wheeler again and again.
Little things. More things. His toothbrush next to hers. His typewriter sitting on the desk in her room, next to a cushioned chair in the corner that holds a basket of her knitting supplies. His watch laid out on the dresser next to her bracelets.
His clothes hanging in the closet amongst hers, giving El easy access to steal his shirts for herself. The material could be the same, yet Mike’s shirts will always feel softer on her body than her own. It’s what she does when they wake in the morning and he’s in the shower. Shedding her tank, she slips on one of Mike’s shirts for comfort, so big because of his tall frame that it falls to her thighs, right at the hem of her shorts. It’s just a simple dark green T-shirt, but it smells like him and that’s all she needs.
While Mike showers, El moves to the kitchen to make breakfast. She gets the coffee started and opens one of the cabinets, pausing when she does so. There’s a matching set of mugs, baby blue in color to match the plates and bowls set, but El’s gaze goes to the other two mugs that sit in there. Her favorite mug, white with sunflowers printed on it, sits next to Mike’s mug, which says Fetch This with a cartoon dog putting up two middle fingers.
El’s lips part with a laugh every time she sees it, especially sitting next to her flowery mug. She got the first two mugs as a set with her other dinnerware; two of each for her to use one in the morning and one in the evening. Then she got her flower mug and three mugs sitting together seemed like too much for just her. It was such a silly, dumb thing, yet it made her heart thud as she wanted for something that she had felt, at the time, she could never have: to share a life, not just with anyone, but only with Mike.
She should have known better, though. She should have known that she and Mike, no matter what, always find their way back to each other.
El’s chest squeezes a little, head tilting as she grabs the two mugs, placing hers down on the counter while she holds onto Mike’s. Distantly, she knows she should start making breakfast, but El can’t bring herself to move just yet. A smile upturns her quivering lips, inhaling deeply through her nose before exhaling as her thumb brushes over the words on the mug.
This feeling, at this point, has become familiar to El. The constant realization of this being her new life, the physical reassurance of Mike’s things—of Mike’s presence—that this is real. Every corner of the cabin, every room, has traces of her and Mike. Even on the fridge next to her are pictures of the two of them; polaroids and photobooth strips—all smiles and starry eyes and flushed cheeks and stolen kisses immortalized in photographs. Happiness everywhere, finally.
El is so lost in her thoughts that this becomes one of the rare occasions where she doesn’t sense Mike as he comes up behind her, snapping out of her reveries when his arms wrap around her waist from behind and pressing his chest to her back.
“Thinking of stealing my mug?” he murmurs, his voice low from sleep as his lips press to her cheek. His hair is still a little damp, but she doesn’t mind feeling it against her skin. The sandalwood scent of his body wash infiltrates her nose, and she can’t help but inhale it in more.
“No,” El breathes out a laugh, setting the mug down before clicking her tongue. “I wanted to have breakfast ready by the time you finished with your shower.”
Mike chuckles. “It’s okay.” A kiss to her temple. “We’ll make it together.”
They settle on omelets; Mike dices some tomatoes while El chops green onions, but she can feel his gaze slipping over to her every now and again as they stand next to each other. El knows exactly why, can see from the corner of her eye the way Mike’s gaze keeps dipping down her frame, and she struggles to bite back a smile as she turns towards the fridge to grab some eggs; two for him, one for her.
“You’re staring,” she remarks as she moves back to his side, pulling a bowl towards her.
Mike smiles as he cracks one of the eggs. “You’re pretty,” is his simple reply, which makes El’s cheeks warm up. No matter how long they’ve been together, she doesn’t think she will ever not blush at his compliments.
Still, she tries to play it off with a giggle, her heart fluttering. “You’re just saying that because I’m wearing your shirt.”
His grin widens as he turns to face her. El’s lips tug up as she mirrors his position with raised eyebrows, facing him. She thinks back to when they first met, back when they were the same height. Before high school, Mike shot up like a tree, nearly six feet tall with eight inches on her shorter height, and El loves it. She loves having to tip her head back to meet his gaze. She loves that they have the perfect height difference for her head to fit perfectly under Mike’s chin. She loves how safe she feels pressed into him, arms around her to keep her close.
“I’m not that arrogant,” Mike protests, still smiling as he looks down at her with those soft eyes. “I’m just really lucky.”
El tilts her head. Their ingredients sit forgotten on the counter next to them and the coffee pot has finished brewing, but El and Mike drift closer to each other as her gaze flickers over his face. His dark hair is damp, a few ends dripping water down onto his shoulders, darkening the grey material of his shirt. Handsome. “Lucky how?” she asks.
Mike’s smile shifts, from warm to a different kind of heat, a smirk more than anything else. It makes her stomach flip as he looks down at her knowingly, eyes hooded not from sleep but a love he doesn’t shy away from.
His arm snakes around her waist and El’s hands slip up so she can wrap her own arms around his neck. Her pulse picks up and up and up as Mike dips his head. “Lucky to be here.” Mike presses his lips to hers, but the kiss is too short lived. “Lucky to wake up every day with you.” Another kiss, slow and deliberate, resulting in another flip of her stomach. El’s eyes flutter shut, lips slightly parted and tingling, feeling herself sway a little closer to Mike. He’s got a little bit of facial hair growing on his chin and it tickles her skin, but she likes it as he speaks in between kisses. “Lucky to make this place our home. Lucky to do it all with you.”
Every kiss ignites a fire right under the surface of El’s skin, buzzing and lively and spreading uncontrollably as she gives in and tightens her grip around Mike and presses her lips firmer against his in a long, needy kiss. Her heart is pounding in her ears as Mike parts his lips, deepening the kiss with his hands gripping El’s hips and turning her until her lower back presses against the edge of the counter opposite the one they were working on.
El ends up sitting on the counter, the top cool under her skin, Mike’s hair damp between her fingers as his tall frame slots perfectly between her parted legs. The sunlight is warm on her back, bathing in from the window behind her, but all El can focus on is Mike. On this slow morning where their mugs sit next to each other and their breakfast is waiting to be made as she feels his hands slip under her—his—shirt to rest on her bare waist and make her gasp into the kiss. Her heart is erratic in her chest, Mike’s touch hot and needy, and El doesn’t care about breakfast or coffee or anything else. She can spend her entire morning like this. She can spend the rest of her life like this, in their home, made up of pieces of them and crafted lovingly, carefully.
“Mike,” El gasps into the kiss, hands sliding down so she can cup his cheeks, feels the sharp line of his jaw in her palms. “Mike.”
“Yeah, baby?” His voice is breathless, the words spoken through kiss swollen lips and El feels herself smile. He only calls her baby in moments like these—where they are so lost in each other that the rest of the world has slipped away, where he tastes her on his lips and feels her heartbeat in his own chest.
Their foreheads press together as El tries to catch her breath, a little dizzy from the kisses as she rubs her thumbs over his cheekbones. “I love you,” she tells him, reveling in the sharp breath that escapes him, like it knocks the air out of his lungs every time she tells him. The feeling is mutual.
She feels his own thumbs rubbing circles on the skin of her waist, fingers resting on her back. “I love you, too,” he replies earnestly as El’s fingers push back some of his damp hair from his temple.
A breath escapes El, her chest tightening. As if there is so much happening inside of her that she may burst, but she isn’t afraid of it. It’s a good feeling; like there is so much happiness inside of her that she feels like she could burst at any moment. Skin abuzz and chest fluttering and a smile that she can’t keep off her face.
“No, Mike, I—” El cuts herself off with a light laugh, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. Even with her sitting on the counter, Mike still has a few inches on her. She rests her hands on his shoulders, taking a breath as he watches her patiently while she finds the words she’s looking for. “When I first got here, I tried so hard to make this place, this cabin, my home. I thought—” Her throat works, shrugging as she gives him a small smile, Mike’s gaze dipping to her lips briefly before finding her eyes once more. “I thought if I got enough things that felt like me, it would feel like mine. But I also had to figure out who I am, you know?”
Her basket full of knitting supplies. A cabinet bursting with baking pans and cookie cutters. Candles that smell like lavender and apples and cinnamon. Clothes in her closet as she finally figured out what she likes to wear, what she feels good in. Jewelry and hairclips on her vanity, sitting next to perfumes she likes—the ones whose scent remind her of flowers, those are her favorites. Slowly, El figured out who she is outside of who she used to be—more than a number, more than a science experiment, more than a superhero. Just a girl, trying to live her life.
“And I did. I think I did—”
“You did,” Mike says with a quick nod, brown eyes searching hers. “This place—” He looks around, his smile growing and El tracks his gaze; watches as his eyes catch the their mugs, the flowers on the kitchen table, the colorful cushions on the couch, the quickly filling bookshelf that may need to be joined by another soon—she watches as Mike’s smile grows as he takes in all of these things, as if for the first time. When their eyes meet again, El is overwhelmed by the pride in Mike’s gaze. “You made it your own, El. This is your home, and it’s perfect.”
A laugh escapes her, part sob that she hadn’t expected, but her smile remains as she crosses her ankles at Mike’s back, keeping him close. “It is perfect,” she agrees, pulling a laugh from Mike. “And it’s our home. That’s—that’s what I wanted to say. That I did my best in making this place mine, but it was only when you got here and your stuff started finding their place next to mine that it really felt like the home I wanted it to be. You—” She squeezes his shoulders and her heartbeat trips at the look in Mike’s eyes; soft and warm and swimming with so many emotions. All good, all happy. El’s voice drops to a reverent whisper, her words a well known secret as she tells him, “You are my home, Mike. You always have been.”
From the day they met; he was her home, her warmth, her safety, her comfort. Admittedly, El had tried to replicate those same feelings in the cabin with all these new things she bought herself. But it had quickly become clear to her, as much as she loved the cabin, as much as she found peace in it, it didn’t feel completely like a home.
Until Mike.
“El.” His hands leave her waist, and before she has a chance to miss the warmth of his touch, his hands cup her cheeks, his thumb brushing right over where her dimple is. “Wherever you are, that’s where I belong,” Mike says, raw and honest and firm. He presses his forehead to hers. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
El lets out a breath. “I should be the one thanking you.”
Mike chuckles. “Maybe we just thank each other,” he decides with a grin that El immediately mirrors with a laugh—which gets silenced when she leans forward to press her lips to his. Her way of thanking him again—always.
She feels him chuckle again into the kiss, a hand resting at the back of her head to keep her close. Happy and content, El enjoys this moment—enjoys Mike, enjoys this house they have made into their home. All the changes in this cabin came after Mike’s arrival—changes El is grateful for. All their things, next to one another. Her and Mike, side by side. Like it was always meant to be.