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The social hierarchy of Hawkins High is rigid, unforgiving, and, according to Mike Wheeler’s current internal monologue, absolutely broken.
It has been a month since freshman year started. Lucas has sort of defected to the popular table, trading his wizard staff for a shiny green-and-white basketball jersey and the ability to high-five juniors. Max drifts through the halls like a ghost in a Walkman, headphones permanently attached, radiating an "approach me and die" energy that Mike actually kind of respects.
And El?
El was effectively royalty.
It wasn't intentional. She just has better balance than anyone else, terrifying core strength, and a face that makes people stop talking mid-sentence when she enters a room. Stacey, the head cheerleader, drafted her immediately. Now, Jane "El" Hopper is the star flyer of the Hawkins Tigers, and Mike Wheeler is... Mike is the guy who has become intimately familiar with the hallway lockers, usually courtesy of Lucas’ teammates.
The room is dim, smelling of old polyester costumes, dust, and Eddie’s cheap cigarettes. Mike sits on the main table, staring at his character book, his knee bouncing up and down like a jackhammer.
"Dude, stop shaking," Gareth says, aggressively tuning his guitar in the corner. "You’re shaking the table. My pretzels are spazzing all over."
"Shut up, Gareth," Mike snaps, immediately shaking his knee even harder.
"Where is everyone?" Jeff asks, adjusting his glasses and looking at his watch. "Eddie went for snacks like twenty minutes ago. Dustin went with him. And Sinclair?"
"Practice," Mike mutters bitterly, stabbing his pencil into his notebook. "Lucas has a game tonight. He’s probably out there right now, being all cool and shit."
"Traitor," Gareth coughs. He looks up at Mike with a smirk. "And what about your girl? El Hopper? What’s she doing?"
Mike winces. "She's at a pep rally. She’s busy."
“Sure she is, Wheeler.” Jeff rolls his eyes unconvincingly. “About time we meet the hologram you hired.”
"She is not a hologram!" Mike stands, his voice cracking. Great. Real smooth, Wheeler. "I'm going to the bathroom. Don't touch my dice. It's cursed. If you touch them, your character fucking dies. ‘Kay?”
"Sure, Mike," Gareth drawls.
Mike doesn't actually go to the bathroom. He just walks into the hallway to pace. He needs air. He needs to stop thinking about how his girlfriend is currently at the top of the social food pyramid while he’s bottom-feeding. He turns to head back, dreading the dungeon, when he sees her.
El, his El, is walking down the empty corridor.
Mike’s brain short-circuits. She is in full uniform - the emerald green V-neck sweater vest with the gold 'H', the pleated skirt that cuts off mid-thigh, and pristine, blindingly white sneakers. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a high, bouncy ponytail tied with a shimmering gold ribbon. She looks like she just walked out of a Pepsi commercial. She looks like the kind of girl Mike isn't even allowed to make eye contact with, let alone date.
Oh no, Mike thinks. She’s glowing. She’s literally glowing. I am going to pass out.
She spots him, and her face - usually stoic and intimidating in the halls - breaks into a radiant, soft smile that is reserved exclusively for him.
"Mike!” She doesn't walk; she practically skips toward him, the skirt swishing with every step. Before he can stammer out a hello, she grabs his hand. Her grip is strong, as expected from a secret superhero.
"El, wait, the guys - "
"Gone," she declares knowingly, pushing him backward into the room.
She’s right. The room is empty. (How the heck does she know that?) Jeff and Gareth must have gone to the vending machines to hunt for food. El slams the heavy door shut and, with a decisive click, locks it with a snap of her neck.
"El?" Mike’s heart does a traitorous double-flip against his ribs. "You’re supposed to be at the gym. You have the–”
"Boring," El says simply, dropping her gym bag on the floor with a thud. She walks toward him, her eyes locked on his with terrifying intensity. "Stacey talks about hairspray and weird stuff. My ears hurt. I wanted quiet. I wanted Mike."
Mike leans back against the heavy oak table, his hands sweating. He feels like a peasant being approached by a queen. "I... I missed you too. But, El, look at you." He gestures vaguely to her uniform, his fingers all cramped and nervous. "You look..."
"Pretty?" she offers shyly, tilting her head. The ponytail bobs.
“Pretty," Mike admits, his voice dropping to a whisper. "So pretty.”
She smiles up at him. “You’re pretty too, Mike Wheeler.”
Mike just shrugs, not really agreeing with her. El frowns. It’s a serious, scary frown. She steps into his personal space, the scent of her perfume and just her overwhelming his senses. She places her small hands on his chest, balling the white surface of his Hellfire shirt.
“You are cute, Mike. You are mine.”
Mike flushes. "El.” There are just some things she says, almost so matter-of-factly, that makes his stomach tumble.
"Mike," she insists, her fingers tightening. "I never see you."
"Well, you're the one with the schedule, El," Mike says, his voice wavering slightly. He looks down at her hands on his chest, terrified to hope. "With you having new friends and being part of the popular crowd, I honestly just figured..."
He trails off, biting his lip.
"Figured what?" El presses, stepping closer until her knees bump his.
"I figured you were moving on," Mike admits, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I mean, look at your life now. You have Stacey. You have your cheerleader friends. I’m just... I’m terrified that one day you’re going to wake up and realize you’d rather be with them. That you’ll realize that I’m really an annoying nerd and that you'd rather sit with them than hang out in a basement with me and the Party."
El stares at him. She blinks once. Then twice.
"That is stupid," she says flatly.
Mike blinks back. "What?"
"That is the most stupid thing I have ever heard," she clarifies, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
"It’s not stupid, it’s a valid concern!" Mike protests weakly.
"Mike," El sighs, sliding her hands up his chest to cup his face, squishing his cheeks slightly. "Stacey is boring. Jason talks about... putting balls in baskets. It is boring. My brain melts."
Mike lets out a startled, wet laugh. "Your brain melts? Where did you learn that?"
"Like soup," El confirms seriously. “I learned it from a new show I am watching.” Her eyes soften, searching Mike’s. "I do not want to be with them. They are loud and they do not know about... us. They do not know me – the real me.” She brushes her thumb over his cheekbone. "I want my best friend. I want you."
Mike feels his chest constrict, but this time it isn't fear. It’s a rush of affection so strong it almost knocks the wind out of him. She thinks Stacy is boring, and even stupid golden boy Jason, he thinks giddily. She wants the basement. She wants me.
"Okay," Mike breathes out, his hands settling firmly on her waist, pulling her flush against him. "Okay. You got me. Whenever you want."
"I want you now," El whispers, a playful, dangerous glint entering her eyes.
"God, I love you," he groans.
"Show me," she challenges.
She tugs him forward by his shirt. Mike doesn't resist. He couldn't if he tried. He crashes his lips against hers, all his insecurity evaporating in the heat of the moment.
It isn't a gentle kiss. It’s a month of pent-up angst and missing each other. El makes a soft, happy sound against his mouth - a sound that makes Mike’s brain go static - and she hops backward, hoisting herself onto the table. She wraps her legs around Mike’s waist, pulling him in until he is standing firmly between her knees.
The position gives Mike a surge of confidence. He’s so much taller now, looming over her, his hands sliding down her back to press her flush against him. El’s fingers are messy in his hair, ruining his sad attempt at styling it this morning, while Mike’s hands wander, resting on the bare skin of her knee, then moving up to the waist of her skirt.
"You look so good in this," Mike murmurs against her jaw, peppering kisses down El’s neck. "It’s unfair. It should be illegal."
El giggles, a breathless, high sound that vibrates against his chest. "I like your shirt," she whispers shyly, biting her lower lip. "You look really nice in it."
She likes the shirt, Mike thinks hysterically. I am never taking this shirt off.
Mike groans and kisses her again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. The world outside dissolves. There is no cheerleading team, no Mind Flayer, no Hellfire Club. Just the friction of her pleated skirt against his dark jeans, the taste of her strawberry lip gloss, and the feeling of her heartbeat hammering against his own.
They are a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing, completely oblivious to the sound of heavy combat boots approaching the door.
They don't hear the jingle of keys.
They don't hear the loud, booming voice until it is entirely too late.
"ALRIGHT, MY LITTLE ACOLYTES! I HAVE RETURNED WITH THE BOUNTY OF—"
The door swings open with a dramatic creak.
Eddie Munson stands in the doorway, holding two massive bags of Funyuns and a crate of soda like a conquering hero. Behind him stands Dustin, looking sweaty, and Will, holding his sketchbook. And behind them are Jeff and Gareth, holding candy bars, looking 100% confused.
Every single person freezes.
The scene before them is undeniable. Mike Wheeler - lanky, pale, frog-faced Mike Wheeler - is standing between the legs of the El Hopper. His hands are gripping her thighs, her legs are locked tight around his waist, their faces are inches apart, and their lips are swollen, red, and wet.
Mike freezes. His soul leaves his body. He spins his head toward the door, his face instantly turning the color of a ripe tomato.
Kill me, Mike thinks. Just strike me down. Take me now.
El just blinks, looking slightly dazed, her light pink strawberry lipgloss smeared near the corner of her lips and - mortifyingly - onto Mike’s chin.
The silence lasts for five agonizing seconds. You could hear a pin drop.
"No. Way," Gareth whispers, his candy bar slipping from his limp hand and hitting the floor.
"Holy shit," Jeff breathes, adjusting his glasses. "He wasn't lying. He actually... he really..."
"MIKE!" Dustin shrieks, covering his eyes with his hands. "LITERALLY! AT THE WORST MOMENT! WE JUST SET UP THE BOARD ON THAT FREAKIN’ TABLE!”
Will just stares at the floor, turning a sympathetic shade of pink, clearly wishing he could turn invisible.
Eddie Munson, however, doesn't scream. He slowly lowers the Funyuns to the floor. He steps into the room, a look of pure, unadulterated shock warring with massive, begrudging respect on his face.
"Wheeler," Eddie says, his voice low and serious. “Wheeler. Wheeler.”
"I - We - It was - " Mike stammers, stepping back a bit from the table, one hand hovering awkwardly in the air, but the other stuck to El’s thigh as if he was a knight protecting her. "We were discussing strategy! For... the game!"
El doesn't look embarrassed at all. She just smooths her skirt, fixes her ponytail, and sort of glares at the intruders for interrupting.
"Don't you dare apologize," Eddie holds up a hand, a slow, shark-like grin spreading across his face. He looks at Jeff and Gareth, who are staring at Mike like he has just slain a dragon in real life. "Do you see this? Do you guys see this?"
"I see it," Gareth squeaks. "The cheerleader. The freshman cheerleader."
"The laws of social physics just broke," Eddie announces, walking around the table to inspect the couple like they are a rare science experiment. "The nerd and the lady with the pompoms. It’s... it’s anarchy. It’s beautiful."
"Can we all just shut about it and forget this whole thing happened, please?" Mike begs, frantically wiping the lipgloss off his chin with his black sleeve.
"Are you kidding?" Jeff asks, stepping forward. "Dude, I thought you were lying about her being your girlfriend. I thought she was just your cousin or something. I thought you made it all up and shit!"
"I am not his cousin," El says firmly. She hops off the table, walks over to Mike, and takes his hand, clutching his arm tightly while pushing her cheek against his shoulder. She looks at the group of stunned boys with a fierce protectiveness. "I am his Mage." Mike almost face-palms in embarrassment.
Eddie clutches his chest as if he’s been shot by an arrow. He staggers back dramatically. "His Mage. Oh my god. She plays? She speaks the language?"
“I play sometimes,” El says.
"She’s a Level 2, or so she says," Dustin grumbles, peeking through his fingers. "But she cheats. Can we please play now? And Mike, can you please sanitize your face? It’s disturbing."
"Right, right," Eddie laughs, clapping his hands together. "Set up that board again! Wheeler, you sit next to the lady of the pompoms. Gareth, stop staring at them, you're being creepy."
As the chaos of setup begins - dice spilling, soda cracking open, Jeff and Gareth whispering furiously to each other while glancing at Mike with newfound hero-worship - Eddie retreats behind his DM screen.
He pretends to organize his campaign notes, but he watches them.
He watches El lean over and whisper something in Mike’s ear. Mike flushes a bright pink, but then he smiles - a genuine, confident smile that Eddie hasn't seen in weeks. He sees Mike hand her a D20 like it is a diamond engagement ring.
It feels impossible. The Freak and the Cheerleader? It shouldn't work. The school hierarchy says it couldn't work. Oil and water.
Eddie leans back, chewing on the end of his pencil. His mind drifts.
He thinks of the hallway earlier that day. He thinks of Chrissy Cunningham. The Head Cheerleader. The Queen of Hawkins High.
He looks back at Mike and El. Mike is a dork. A massive, argumentative dork. Lanky. Nerdy. Annoying. And yet, there he is, holding hands with the most popular girl in the freshman class, breaking every rule in the book just by existing.
If Wheeler can do it, Eddie thinks, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks down at his notes. If the Frog-Face can get the Princess... maybe there’s a chance for the Banished King too.
"Alright!" Eddie slams his fist on the table, making everyone jump. "Enough of stupid romance! Vecna does not care about your love life! ROLL YOUR DICE!"