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Mike knows that it's going to be the start of a long two weeks the second he walks into first period.
He's known about this assignment since his freshman year, when he walked down the hall and saw older students carrying around sacks of flour with diapers on them. When he brought it up with Nancy, she told him that it's for a home economics class that the school makes juniors take, and he'd been relieved when he heard that, because that was two whole years away.
But he's a junior now, and he's taking that stupid home economics class (which has actually been pretty fun, for the most part, but he's annoyed right now, so in this moment it's the worst class that's ever existed), and there are sacks of flour lining the front of the classroom.
In the third row, at the table they claimed first day of classes, Max is already frowning, a sharp glare landing on the sacks of flour and an unhappy crinkle on her scrunched-up nose.
Mike drops his bag to the floor and falls into his chair with a huff. "This is going to suck."
"Do you think there's time for us to switch desk partners?" Max asks, slouching back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest. "I really don't want to share a flour baby with you."
"Okay, out of the two of us, who has actual experience being around babies?"
Max casts him a doubtful look.
Mike stares back at her, blinks once, then twice. "Dude," he says. "You know that I have a little sister. I was almost nine when Holly was born, Max. I helped change her diapers and feed her all the time. If anything, the fact that you're partnered with me is going to give you an advantage."
"If it was a real fucking baby, maybe," Max deflects, though it's clear from the way her shoulders are hunched up by her ears that she apparently never really considered the implications of Holly being so much younger than them. Not that she'd ever willingly say that Mike is right, he knows, but still, the slight embarrassment is satisfying. "Not a sack of flour."
He rolls his eyes and doesn't argue, instead asking, "Do you think we get to name it?"
Before Max can do more than scowl at him, the bell rings and their teacher claps her hands from the front of the room, starting class, and all he can do is sink back in his seat and wait.
Their flour sack is, apparently, a babygirl, and they don't have to name it, but they can.
Max thinks that naming it is stupid, but Mike has never been able to ignore the urge to put personality to things—to humanize the nonhuman, to give names to inanimate objects and inevitably bond with whatever those objects are. Every toy and stuffed animal that he's ever owned has been given a name, a title, a backstory, some more elaborate than others, but each one unique all the same. He ponders this as he carries their temporary kid into the cafeteria.
Dustin starts laughing the second he spots Mike and Max approaching their table. "Oh my god," he breathes out, visibly delighted about the fact that Mike is holding the flour sack like an actual baby, cradling it in his arms like he used to do with Holly.
It was different then, of course. Mike was a lot smaller and it took both arms and all of his strength for him to hold her, but he remembers loving it, remembers asking his mom to let him hold her all the time and getting upset when he wasn't allowed to. He still likes holding her now, when she wants a hug or is feeling clingy—he's always been the overly protective one with his loved ones, and tucking his baby sister against his chest feels like he's keeping her safe.
"Meet Babygirl Mayfield-Wheeler," Mike introduces with a flourish, and he thinks he should probably be embarrassed about taking this so seriously, but he's managed to maintain straight A's this year and can easily dismiss his behavior as refusing to let his grade slip. If he's being honest, though, he just thinks he's going to have way too much fun with this.
Max gags. "Oh my god, do not give it both of our last names. That's disgusting."
Mike frowns at her, holds Babygirl closer to him and takes a seat at the table. "Ignore her," he tells their flour baby—no longer just a basic sack of flour, now with a cute little smiley face drawn on her, wrapped in a soft pink blanket and a small pink beanie with a white puffball on top. She's stupidly adorable. "Your mom is just mean and hates fun. I'll keep you safe, okay?"
Dustin is absolutely cackling at this point, clapping his hands together with joy.
"You're so fucking weird, Wheeler," Max grouches, dropping her bag on the bench and making her way over to the lunch line with an overdramatic eyeroll. Mike can tell that she's fighting off a smile, though, her mouth doing that twitch it does when she's trying not to laugh. She hates laughing at his jokes and always tries to hide it when he's funny, so he's used to that face.
"She's cranky," he tells their flour baby. "And you need a real name. Babygirl is just a placeholder. Don't worry, I'm good with names, I'll think of something good for you."
The table creaks, old and worn down, as Lucas falls into his usual spot next to Dustin, looking at Mike with a cocked brow. "Are you really talking to the flour like it's a real baby?" he asks, amused. "I know you've been taking your classes serious, but that might be a little much."
Mike ignores him. "Your Uncle Lucas is a dickhead," he tells Babygirl Flour. She really does need a real name. He's already cycling through some ideas in his head, trying to land on something that sounds nice and holds some kind of meaning. This is his and Max's fake temporary baby, after all. It should be a name that they'd both like, right?
Lucas barks out a laugh. "I never agreed to be an uncle to that thing," he says.
"You take this class next trimester, asshole," Mike tells him with a sharp look. "If you want me to be the uncle for your future flour baby, then you have to be the uncle for mine."
"Who said I want you to have anything to do with my flour baby?"
"Again, do any of you have any experience changing a diaper? Hm? Just me?" Lucas makes a face at him—him and Erica are closer in age, Mike knows for a fact that he was too young to help take care of Erica the way that he and Nancy helped with Holly. Mike smiles, a half-smug smirk and a self satisfied grin. "That's what I thought. Do you think Zoomer is a good name?"
Dustin snorts. "Can you imagine a person named Zoomer, Mike? Think about that for a second. Like, really, really think about it. Does that sound like a name for a person?"
Mike frowns at him, then looks down at his flour baby again. "Your Uncle Dustin also sucks."
"Oh, fuck you, man. Zoomer is not a good baby name and you know it."
A familiar laugh comes from his right—that recognizable, twinkle-light chuckle that airs towards a giggle when it's late, sometimes more low and husky in the mornings, a sound that Mike craves like water. He whips his head over to see Will approaching the table, his head tilted to the side and his smile lopsided, gentle. Jane is trailing after him, headphones over her ears and looking towards the lunch line, but Mike only has eyes for Will, who glances down at Babygirl Flour and smiles wider as he sits on Mike's left side. "You got your fake baby?"
"My very real baby, thank you," Mike corrects quickly, already grinning as he meets Will's gaze. "And Max's, but she doesn't even want to give our baby a name, so she's barely a parent."
Like the devil, summoned by her name, Max reappears with a lunch tray in hand, plopping down across from Mike with an annoyed look. "It's a bag of flour, Mike," she gripes at him. "Just because you're willing to get attached to the stupid thing doesn't mean that I am."
Jane sinks down at Max's side, automatically reaches over to swipe a chicken nugget from Max's tray. "I think it's cute," she comments gently, looking at Babygirl. "She deserves a name."
Mike fights back a victorious smirk. Max will spend days arguing with Mike just for the sake of arguing—that's how they are, how they always have been; Mike pushes her buttons and she pushes his, they say they hate each other and call each other names, and then she usually ends up crashing in his basement most weekends and during school breaks because her mom isn't all that present between her three jobs and her habit of drinking until she passes out. They fight likes siblings, like him and Nancy, and they also know everything about each other that there is to know—including their embarrassing crushes.
They're too similar, Mike thinks. If Will and Jane are twins despite sharing no blood, then Max and Mike must be, too, because they've got the same temper, the same sense of humor, and the same stupid crush on one half of the Byers-Hopper twins. Mike is pathetically head over heels for Will and has been for most of his life, and Max is hopelessly in love with Jane, unable to tell her no, always pink in the cheeks when Jane leans in too close or gives a soft little giggle.
Like right now—Max is bunching up her shoulders, her face reddening slightly as she glares daggers at Mike, clearly disgrunted about throwing in the towel, but doing so anyway for the sake of agreeing with Jane. "You're right," she murmurs, her face softening when Jane smiles at her, wide and toothy. Mike shares a knowing look with Dustin and Lucas, then looks back at Max in time for her glare to sharpen again. She kicks him under the table and then says, "But if we're naming her, then she can't have a stupid name, alright? If she's ours, she's gonna be cool."
Mike grins. She kicks him under the table again, hard in the shin, with enough force to make him jump, his grin falling into a scowl. "I was gonna offer Zoomer, you asshole."
"That's a horrible name for a baby, Mike."
Dustin points at her excitedly. "That's what I said!"
Mike slouches—leans slightly into Will, just because he knows that he can, that Will won't push him again, relishes in the way Will chuckles at their bickering. He turns his face, probably leaning too close for this but doesn't bother to pull away, jutting out his lower lip into a pout. "You think it's a good name, right, Will? I mean, I'm trying to honor my daughters mother, here. The thought has to count for something, right?"
"Um." Will gives Mike an apologetic smile. "The thought is cute, but it's not the right name."
With a huff, Mike looks down at their baby and says, "Fine, not Zoomer. I'll think of something though, alright? By tomorrow morning, I'll have the perfect name picked."
Max snorts. "Good luck with that," she dismisses, splitting her apple sauce with Jane.
Mike wants to tease her for it, but Will is already looking at him, that doe-eyed stare with his wide, hazel eyes that makes Mike feel weak, and he swallows back his teasing. They're both whipped, he knows, and if he tries to dish it out, she's just going to throw it right back at him.
For now, he lets it go, if only to spare himself the grief.
Max stays at his house that night.
He doesn't ask his parents if she can—at this point, he thinks they expect her to be there more often than not. He's also pretty sure that they think Max and him are dating, and he's pretty sure the reason Ted is so okay with her crashing in the basement is because he just doesn't want Mike to be gay, which is going to result in a pretty unfortunate conversation one day, but for now neither him nor Max have bothered to correct what his parents try to imply for the sake of making sure they don't try to force her to go home or some stupid shit like that.
They have school tomorrow, so they don't stay up late, but Mike does decide to crash in the basement with her, passing out on one end of the couch with their flour baby on his chest while she snores into the armrest on the other side of the sofa. He wakes up with a crook in his neck and the perfect name for their baby, shakes her awake until she's threatening to punch him in the face, then grins sleepily at her and says, "Poppy Mayfield-Wheeler."
She squints at him, sleep-blurry and disgrunted. "What?"
"Poppy," he says again. "That's the state flower for California, right? Or am I remembering that wrong? I just—I dunno, she's a bag of flour, so I thought of flowers, and the state flower for Indiana is the peony, but that didn't sound right, but you're from California and Poppy is cute."
Max stares at him for a long time, then glances down at their flour baby, still cradled in his arms, before huffing out a little laugh as she scrubs her face. "You're taking this way too seriously, Mike," she grumbles at him, rubbing at her eyes with one hand and pushing herself to sit up with the other. She considers for a moment longer, then sighs. "Poppy is good," she decides on, speaking around a yawn. "Why do you care so much, though? You said it was going to suck in class, but now you're suddenly acting like you're actually a dad. It's a little weird."
It's a fair question—Mike walked into that classroom feeling dread at the idea of this assignment, but he's all for it now. Maybe it's just that same urge to give everything a name, a story, a soul. Maybe it's whatever makes him so protective of everybody. He isn't sure, really, so he offers a shrug and honestly says, "I don't know. It just seems fun to actually care."
"Weird," Max says again, but she's got a half-smile on her face this time, so he knows she doesn't mean it in a bad way. He just grins back at her shamelessly until she rolls her eyes.
They decide to trade off Poppy duties throughout the school day.
Mike takes her for the first half of the day, keeps her cradled safely in his arms or resting in his lap with one hand keeping her steady while the other writes down notes. Some of his classmates point and whisper and laugh, but he stopped caring about the bullies in this town a long time ago, and there are other people in his classes carrying their own flour babies as well, so at least he's not being entirely singled out.
At lunch, he holds onto her while Max gets her lunch and eats, usually sharing some of it with Jane, and then he hands Poppy over about halfway through lunch so that he can eat, too, and then she takes Poppy for the second half of the day.
Originally, the plan is for him to take Poppy again after school, but then him and Will are partnered up for a presentation in their english class, and Mike pulls Max to the side after the final bell goes off and begs her to keep Poppy for a little longer, because he wants to hang out with Will alone. Max stares at him for a moment, then snorts loudly.
"Are you abandoning your child for Will Byers?" she asks, faking a scandalized tone as she holds Poppy in one arm, propped up on her hip with ease. "Are you cheating on us, Mike?"
He rolls his eyes, but looks over his shoulder anxiously, scared that Will is somehow nearby despite his locker being in an entirely different hall. "Please," he says, facing Max fully, his eyes wide and pleading. "Just for a bit, Max, please? I'll—I'll keep her all day tomorrow so you can do something with Jane! I'll owe you one, I'll so whatever you want, just—please?"
As soon as a mischievous glint lights up her eyes, he knows he made a mistake. "Fine," she says, features twisted up with amusement. "Is Will coming to your house or are you going to his?"
"Does it matter?"
Max rolls her eyes. "Yes, Mike, it does. If you're going to his place, Jane will be there too. I can go with to hang out with her and make sure you're not interrupted. And if he's going to your place, I can still go hang out with Jane without anyone else there. It's a win-win, right?"
"Oh. I guess. Um—I don't know, we didn't say." He falters for a moment, then admits, "I haven't actually asked if he wanted to work on the presentation today yet. I was gonna do that next."
The look she gives him is equal parts pitying and scathing. "Go ask him, idiot!"
Mike nods rapidly. "Right. Yes. I'll do that. Give me a minute."
Max watches him scamper away, then looks down at Poppy with a sigh. She hates that she's looking at this sack of flour with fondness already; this is a two week assignment and she's already growing attached despite clearly saying that she didn't want to, but it was probably inevitable. "Your father," she tells Poppy, "is a gay disaster. Never forget that, alright?"
"Are you talking to her?"
With an embarrassing, strangled yelp, Max spins around, her free hand flying up to keep Poppy secure in her arms, hair flying wildly until she's facing Jane, who is standing a few feet away with her head slightly cocked, bangs barely hanging over her eyes (they need to be trimmed soon, Max thinks; she can offer to trim them, if Jane wants).
Jane is smiling at her, that dimple in her cheek attention grabbing. "Sorry. Did I scare you?"
"No, it's fine, I—" Max swallows roughly, straightens her posture and reaches up to fix her hair once she knows she isn't at risk of dropping Poppy onto the floor. It'd be a tragedy, and Mike would never forgive her, and he'd be so fucking annoying about it that she'd actually end up feeling bad. Once she's no longer having to talk around strands of hair in her mouth, she tries for a smile that's probably frazzled looking and says, "I was—yes. Yeah, I was talking to her."
"Aw. That's really cute," Jane says, her features going soft and fond. Max thinks she might melt into a puddle right here in the hallway, weak under the kindness and warmth of Jane's undivided attention. "I think it's really sweet," Jane adds. "You and Mike caring so much."
Max may have just been thinking about how she hates the fact that she's growing attached to a stupid sack of flour, but she's more than willing to change as a person. "You think so?"
The way Jane's head tilts to the side is the cutest thing in the world. "Yeah, I do," she says.
Screw whatever Max was thinking before. If Jane thinks it's sweet, then Max is willing to call this sack of flour her daughter for the rest of her miserable gay life. She glances down the hall, in the direction tha Mike vanished, then looks back at Jane and asks, "Hey, did you wanna hang out for a bit? I think Mike and Will are planning to work on a presentation for a while, so if you wanted to—I don't know, watch a movie or whatever, then we could… if you want…?"
"Sure," Jane agrees easily, and Max could melt with relief. It doesn't matter how many times they hang out together—Max is pretty sure it's a fluke of the universe and sooner or later the world will course correct, so she needs to be grateful for every moment she gets to have.
"Okay. Great. Did you wanna just head to yours? I have my board, if you have your bike."
Jane's smile widens. "Let me check in with Will first. I'll meet you out front?"
The timing works perfectly, because just as Max is nodding her agreement and Jane starts to turn away, Mike comes back into view, his face red and sheepish. She waits until Jane is out of sight and Mike is right in front of her to ask, "What the hell happened to you, Wheeler?"
"Nothing," Mike squeaks out, gripping onto his backpack straps with shaky hands.
Max blinks at him once, then twice, then pinches her nose. "What did he say, Mike?"
Mike rocks back and forth on his heels. "Uh. Yes. My house. Were you talking to Jane?"
"Yeah, and apparently doing a better job than you," Max snarks at him, which is probably true since she isn't as red as a tomato and trembling right now. Sure, she got spooked and most likely looked kind of stupid for a minute, but Mike looks like he must have accidentally said something horribly embarrassing or something. "Seriously, why do you look like that?"
"Just—I don't know! I got all—all flustered because I started to say that you were gonna have Poppy and then I realized that it makes no sense for me to mention that without it being, like, suggestive or some shit, which I wanted but not like that, and then he laughed and I know he wasn't laughing at me but I felt like an idiot, and I just—shut the fuck up, Max, it's not funny!"
Max laughs harder, which pisses him off even more, but it's fine because he gets so mad at her laughing at him that he stops shaking from embarrassment. What else are friends for, right?
The ride to the Byers-Hopper's house isn't a short one, but Max enjoys is, feeling the way her board runs over bumps in the ground, the warmth of the afternoon sun, Jane riding on her bike right next to her. She has to cradle Poppy in her arms the whole ride, but she finds that she doesn't really mind it, even if her arms are kind of sore by the time they get there.
"I want to learn how to do that one day," Jane tells her, when Max is kicking up her board to lean it against the front door. She's setting her bike in the grass of the front yard, looking at the skateboard with a curiosity and determination. "How to skateboard, I mean. It looks fun."
Max doesn't hesitate to say, "I'll teach you. If you want. I'm a good teacher."
Jane grins at her. "Didn't Mike break his wrist when you tried to teach him?"
"That's entirely his fault, he's a bad student and wouldn't listen to me. And it was just a sprain. Besides, he was only trying to learn to impress Will, and Will doesn't care about skateboarding."
A giggle bubbles up past Jane's lips, a bright sound that makes Max almost trip over her own two feet as she follows Jane inside, clutching Poppy to her chest to avoid dropping her. It makes Jane laugh again, a little louder, but she reaches out and grabs Max by the elbow to help keep her steady, and Max would trip a million times if it means this gentle, caring touch. Which is the most embarrassing thing she's ever thought, but who cares, honestly?
She cares. But, like… only kind of. She mostly just cares about Jane.
"I'd like that," Jane tells her, smile gentle. "I think it'd be fun to learn from you."
Max's mouth is bone dry. "Okay. Yeah. Just tell me when."
The way Jane looks back at her makes her weak in the knees. "I will," she says, and Max has to collapse onto the couch before her legs can give out, Poppy settlng in her lap.
"Cool," Max breathes out, then clears her throat, trying to save some smidge of her dignity. It's useless, though. She's too easy and willing to crumple for Jane Hopper. Still, she tries, lifting Poppy up slightly and asking, "So, what movie should we introduce my flour baby to?"
Jane lights up, an excitement brightening her features. "I know just the one!" she exclaims, rushing across the living room to dig through the VHS tapes. Max smiles, settling back into the couch cushions with an thrill of excitement in her chest. It's no different than their usual hangouts, save for Poppy being here, but eventually—eventually, Max will use the word date.
Hopefully, when she does, it'll land them somewhere good.
The next day, Mike tries to ask Max to keep Poppy again.
"No way, Wheeler," Max says, shaking her head. "For one, I'm literally staying at your house tonight, so it makes no fucking sense in the first place, but this is supposed to be fifty-fifty!"
Mike is pouting. He knows that he is, but he can't help it—just like he can't help the way his voice comes out in a whine when he says, "But we talked about going to the diner to get something to eat and work on our presentation there! That's a whole new ball game, Max!"
"Don't say ball game like you know anything about sports," Max snarks at him, before forcefully shoving Poppy into his arms. He's still pouting, but he scrambles to make sure he's got a good hold on her, refusing to let Poppy fall. "You're the one who wanted to name this thing and take it seriously, Mike. If we're taking it seriously, then we're following a parenting plan. I had her after school yesterday, so you get to have her today. I don't care if you take her with you to the diner or raincheck on your study date—either way, you have her for it."
"Don't act like this is about a stupid parenting plan," Mike fires back at her, though his tone is softened by the way he's cradling Poppy against his chest. "You just want to leave us for Jane."
Max pulls a face at him. "I'm not even hanging out with her today, dude. I mean, yes, you're absolutely right, I will happily ditch you for her literally any day, but I'm also just not gonna keep carrying around the assignment we're supposed to be sharing. Your turn, dad."
Mike pulls a face right back at her. "Ew. Never call me that again. That was gross."
"Oh, so you can call me Poppy's mom but I can't do the same? Hypocritical much?"
"Yeah, I called you Poppy's mom. I didn't just say mom."
For a moment, Max looks ready to argue, but then she falters, a disgusted look twisting up her features. "That's fair, actually. My point still stands. It's your turn to take her."
Rolling his eyes, Mike gives up, shoulders slumping. "Fine, whatever. You suck, but sure."
Max gives him a sarcastic smile. "Have fun with your boytoy, Wheeler! See you at home!"
He glares at her and calls out, "You don't actually live there!" as she walks away. She just flips him off until she turns the corner down the fall, leaving him to peer down at Poppy with a forlorn sigh. "It's not that I don't love you," he informs her. "I'm just an idiot who's in love with my best friend. You'll understand when you're older. How do you feel about going to a diner?"
The waitress looks at him like he's grown a second head when he asks for a high chair.
Will is trying to hide his laugh behind his hand, but Mike can hear the airy little chuckles and can see how his chest is jumping with each breath. It makes him double down even more, holding the waitress' gaze while he holds up Poppy. "I need a high chair for my baby," he says. She frowns at him, and Mike sheepishly adds, "If there are any available. Like… if they're all being used by real babies then obvious it's fine, but if—I mean, if I could, then—I, uh—"
"I'll see what I can do," the waitress responds, tone dry as she sets their menues down on the edge of the table before walking away, rolling her eyes. Mike winces, settles Poppy in his lap.
"Oh my god," Will says, letting out his laughter freely as he drops his hand, looking at Mike from across the booth with a bewildered fondness. "You know that you're not at school, right?" he asks. "I'm pretty sure your teacher won't know if you left her in your bag for a while."
Which is probably fair, but Mike shakes his head. "I gave her a name," he says, glancing down at the drawn on smiley face and baby pink hat. "I'd feel bad leaving her in there. It's stupid, but—"
Will is smiling softly when Mike looks back up. "It's not stupid," he says. "It's very you."
"Most people think me and stupid are synonyms," Mike points out, making Will laugh again.
"Sometimes," he admits, eyes bright and amused. "Not this, though."
Mike ducks his head, feeling too visible under Will's gaze. He reaches over, grabs the menues and slides one over to Will, then flips his open one-handed, the other making sure Poppy isn't at risk of rolling off his lap. "Do you think it'd be too much if I ordered her a kids meal?"
Will laughs again. Mike practically preens with satisfaction at the sound.
It keeps going like this for the next few days.
"You guys are hopeless," Lucas says on Friday—Mike and Max are both pouting at the lunch table, because Will and Jane skipped school to hang out with Jonathan out of town for the entire weekend. Poppy is sitting on the table top, Mike's arm curled protectively around her, and Dustin is looking between the two of them with barely contained amusement.
Mike huffs, slouches forward to press his forehead into the table top. "Shut up, Lucas."
Dustin hums, high-pitched and judgemental. "No, he's right. You're both being pathetic."
"That's easy for you to say," Max huffs—a rare occasional, really, where she's agreeing with Mike willingly. "You two have been in a steady relationship since middle school. Mike has been pining after the same boy since kindergarten and I'd literally eat glass if Jane asked me to."
"Pathetic," Dustin says again, though his tone carries a little more pity this time.
Lucas shakes his head. "I don't know why you guys don't just pull your heads out of your asses and talk to them. I mean, I think it's pretty clear that they like you guys back."
Mike turns his head until his cheek is squished up against the tabletop, squinting at Lucas with a frown. "How the hell do you think that's clear? Do you think I'd be letting myself suffer like this for twelve fucking years if I thought just talking to him would help anything?"
"You're not always smart, Mike," Lucas tells him, reaching forward to pat Mike on the head with sympathy, like he's comforting a whimpering dog. "Sometimes you're really stupid."
"Okay, so that doesn't make me feel better, actually—"
Max leans forward, brows furrowed. "Shut up," she tells Mike, peering at Lucas with intent. "Explain, Lucas. What do you mean, it's clear that they like us back? You think Jane likes me?"
With a half-laugh, Lucas repeats, "You guys are hopeless. You need to figure your own shit out."
Mike pushes himself up until he's sitting properly. "There's no time for that," he bemoans. "We're teenage parents now, Lucas. We can't tear apart the family because we're both tragic and gay. Poppy deserves to have her parents be here for her and not run off to be with our crushes. If we keep cheating on each other like this, Poppy's gonna be raised in a broken home."
"I'm gonna lose my mind," Lucas grumbles, leaning back. Dustin knocks their shoulders together and offers a shrug and a knowing look, which Mike pointedly ignores.
Max sinks back again, scowling. "You two are no help," she bites out.
Mike ignores her, too. Instead, he thinks about Will. Wishes Will was here. Everything sucks when Will's gone. He hates it, hates that it feels like the end of the world.
Maybe Dustin isn't all that far off, calling him pathetic.
Come Monday, both of them are at each other's throats in a totally normal and sane way.
"I had her Friday," Mike tries, Poppy in his arms. "I took her to the diner with me and Will. I kept her with me all weekend, Max! If anyone should have to take care of her tonight, it's you!"
Max rolls her eyes at him. "I stayed at your house all weekend, jackass. We both were carrying her around and you know it. But Jane wants me to teach her how to skateboard! I can't do that with Poppy without putting her at risk of getting knocked over or dropped or something!"
It's honestly impressive, how easily Max is able to make Mike want to stomp his foot like a toddler and result to nuh-uh! kind of comebacks. He's pretty sure that a stranger could look at the way they talk to each other and assume they're actually related, because Max is clenching her fists at her side the same way a kid does when they're about to throw a tantrum. It would be funny if Mike wasn't in the middle of wanting to physically punch her in the face.
He won't. He wouldn't. Not where there's people who would snitch on him, at least. And not when he knows that she'd probably beat his ass before he could do more than say fuck you.
"Didn't you say we needed to follow a parenting plan?" Mike asks, glaring at her.
"I never said that," Max lies.
Mike scoffs. "You're so full of shit. Take your fucking daughter, you deadbeat."
The noise Max lets out is a little shrill, clearly shocked, her eyes going a little wide and her jaw dropping slightly. Mike keeps glaring, doesn't let himself crack until he sees Max's mouth twitch up, clearly amused—and then he snorts. Max tries to scowl at him, but it's a wobbly attempt at best, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Did you just call me a deadbeat?"
"It's nicer than the other word I was thinking," he tells her matter-of-factly.
"What, were you gonna call me a bitch? That's weak, Wheeler, even for you."
Mike shrugs. "Sure. Let's go with that. Are you gonna take Poppy or not?"
With another eyeroll, she lets out a sigh and holds out her hands. "Yeah, whatever. Fuck you, I hate you, you're the worst—but I did say we needed a parenting plan and I'm usually right."
Satisfied, he hands Poppy off to her. "I'm not going to say thank you for being a parent."
"Okay? And you think that I care because…?"
Mike smiles at her. "Doesn't matter. I'm gonna go see if Will wants to hang out. If you drop our daughter, I'm going to kill you in your sleep and hide your body in the basement."
"Just go, asshole. Keep cheating on me with Will. See if I care."
On Tuesday, Max is planning to teach Jane how to skateboard. Mike doesn't put up much of a fight since he got to hang out with Will yesterday, but he still gripes, "Now who's cheating?"
Max is visibly giddy about her plans and can't even be bothered to glare at him. "This is a broken gay family, Michael," she tells him solemny. "Our flour sack child is going to be raised by two gay parents who are pining after other people and never should have been together. The sooner you accept that reality, the sooner we can learn how to make sure she's still happy."
"You're so annoying," Mike tells her.
"And yet, you never kick me out when I stay over. Which I'm doing again tonight, by the way."
"I literally don't want you there. Stop coming to my house."
Max grins at him, board under one arm. "See you later, Wheeler!"
Mike flips off her back as she walks away. "I hope I don't!"
The next day, Jane has colorful bandaids wrapped around her fingers and on her knees, poking out from beneath the hem of the skirt she's wearing. When she rolls up the sleeves of her flannel, there's a neon green bandaid on her right elbow, too. She also can't stop grinning.
When walking down the hall, Mike knocks his arm into Max's and asks, "Did it go well?"
"I'm in love with her," Max says with a wistful sigh.
Mike blinks at her. "I mean, I already knew that. Is that a yes? Was that supposed to be a yes?"
With a clunky shrug, Max offers a vague, "I guess we'll have to wait and see," before she walks away, a little pep in her step as she turns down the hall, leaving him nothing to go off of.
Shaking his head, he looks at Poppy. "I'm sorry about your broken gay family," he tells her.
He stops, blinks once—stares at Poppy for a second, then looks up to peer down the hall that Max has already disappeared down, then looks at Poppy again. It takes far too long to click, but after a few moments of looking back and forth, he realizes what the problem is: Max was supposed to take Poppy. Max was supposed to have Poppy for the second half of the day.
"Son of a bitch—"
There are two days left of their project, two days left with Poppy, and Mike is still pissed about the fact that Max managed to slip away when it was supposed to be her turn.
"I didn't do it on purpose," Max says, in a tone that makes it obvious that she absolutely did it on purpose and was fully expecting to get away with it. "I was caught up in my feelings, Mike. I was distracted by how in love I am. You should understand, since we're both cheating on each other in this relationship. If you had spent a whole afternoon with Will the way that I did with Jane you would have done the same thing."
Mike scowls at her. "I was supposed to, before you abandoned our child for Jane again."
She scoffs, giving him an annoyed look. "Don't lie to me, Wheeler. You still got to hang out with Will yesterday, you didn't lose out on Will time because you had Poppy."
"I could have!"
"But you didn't!"
"Oh my god," Mike huffs, pushing Poppy into Max's arms with a glare. "I don't care. I don't care. Shut up, stop talking to me. I don't want to hear it. Take our daughter for the love of fucking god and let me go be stupid and gay and look like an idiot while trying to flirt with Will."
Max snorts. "You don't know how to flirt to save your life, Wheeler. If you're gonna cheat on me with bowl cut Byers, then you should at least get better at it."
Barely resisting the urge to strangle her, he sharply replies, "That's why I said trying!"
"What did you just say?"
Mike freezes, his eyes going wide and his shoulders climbing up to his ears, feeling his heart drop to his stomach and his stomach drop to his ass. He doesn't look, can't look, even though he knows and could recognize that voice anywhere—he just stares at Max pleadingly, because the world is about to end and it's going to be his fault and he doesn't know how to—
Max looks behind Mike, looks at Mike, then glances over again, a calculating look in her eyes. Mike is trying to spell out his want to be saved from this situation with his stare, but she slowly smirks, hoists Poppy up in her arms, then says, "You know what? You're right. It's my turn."
"Max," Mike wheezes out, voice high and pitchy.
"I thought you wanted me to stop talking to you," she responds easily, feighing nonchalance, but he can see the amusement in her eyes. She looks down the hall—mostly empty, but there are some lingering students scattered about—and then she looks behind Mike again, quirking a brow before casually saying, "Mr. Anderson's classroom is empty, by the way. Have fun!"
Before Mike can do anything other than let out a terrified little squeak, Max rushes away, vanishing in seconds. He's never been as brave as he pretends to be, as he tries to be, and it's evident in this moment, evident in the way that it takes a solid thirty seconds before he's able to force himself to turn around—and there's Will, standing a few feet away, his face a little pink and his eyes wide as he stares at Mike. Oh god, I'm going to die. I'm going to fucking die.
He clears his throat. "Uh. Hey. How, uh—how much of that did you hear?"
Will doesn't respond for a moment, instead just scanning over Mike slowly, thoughtfully, before suddenly reaching out to grab him by the wrist and dragging him away—to the left, through a door, right into Mr. Anderson's empty classroom. The door clicks shut and Will doesn't hesitate to lock it, before facing Mike again, eyes bright and smile wide, if a little sheepish and shy. Mike's knees feel weak. His head feels a little floaty.
"Um—"
"You try to flirt with me?" Will asks, getting right to the point. His face burns a brighter red, but his voice doesn't waver and his features spell out some kind of determination.
Mike is actually going to die. "I mean—I, uh—"
Will steps closer. Mike's heart stops.
"I… try to," he says slowly. "I'm not good at it. I'm really bad at it, actually, but I—I try, yeah."
"Okay," Will says, blinking rapidly as he processes Mike's words, and then he nods once, sharp and sure. "Right. And you're apparently cheating on Max with—with me…?"
Mike feels heat climb up his neck, burning his face as he lets out a shaky laugh. "That's just—I mean, that's—that's a joke, we've been—because of Poppy, you know? We've been joking about being parents and, like—like I said she keeps abandoning our kid for Jane, which is obviously bullshit because it's not an actual kid and we're not—she's like another annoying sister, and—"
Now, Will just looks amused. "Max is in love with my sister," he says matter-of-factly.
"Yes," Mike quickly confirms, around a deliriously terrified giggle. "Yeah. She is. And, um—"
"And you try to flirt with me," Will cuts in, head tilting slightly to the side.
Mike shrinks in on himself. "Uh… Yeah. Yes."
Another step closer, and then another, until Will is now standing less than a foot away, looking at Mike with a soft smile. "Why do you try to flirt with me, Mike?"
He's a coward. Waves a hand vaguely, then murmurs, "I mean—context clues—"
"I want to hear you say it," Will tells him, not forcefully, but a gentle request. almost a plead.
Mike feels the words get trapped somewhere under his tongue, thinks he might choke on them, but it's obvious by this point, right? There's no way Will hasn't already figured out what Mike is going to say, and he looks like he really does want to hear them. Mike is helpless to do anything other than whatever Will asks of him, so he tries to push through the cowardice, his hands shaking at his sides, and he says, "Max is in love with Jane, and… I'm in love with you."
The way Will grins is blinding, beautiful beyond belief, a smile that Mike is entirely too obsessed with and absolutely undeserving to be on the receiving end of. "Good," Will says, clearly satisfied. "I'm in love with you, too. Even if you're bad at flirting and can be an oblivious idiot sometimes."
"You…" Mike trails off, disbelieving. "You're in love? With me?"
Will nods. "You should kiss me now."
Mike blinks dumbly, once, and then twice, and then he jolts as Will's words process in his brain. "Oh! Yeah, I can—I mean, I want to, yes, if you want to, then I can—"
"Mike," Will interrupts, equal parts fond and exasperated.
"Right." Mike swallows thickly, then steels his nerves and reaches forward, pulling Will closer and thinking his lungs are on the brink of collapse, but he doesn't care, not when he's got Will pressed so close to him, looking at him like he's worth something good. It's the scariest thing he's ever done, but he leans in, keeps leaning, until he's a breaths away, feeling Will's breath on his lips. He falters there, still terrified, and shakily whispers, "Are you sure?"
Will makes a noise, some kind of annoyed huff, and closes the gap, kissing away Mike's fear and uncertainty, hands coming up to frame Mike's face with his palms. The noise Mike's makes is embarrassing as hell, but he doesn't care, too focused on returning the kiss with every drop of love and enthusiasm that he can muster.
When it's time to give Poppy back to their teacher, Mike kind of wants to cry.
"You're too sentimental, Wheeler," Max snarks at him, but she's got her arm curled around Poppy and she's basically glaring at their teacher, who is slowly making her way from table to table collect everyone's bags of flour and pass out the papers that they need to fill out about the things that they've learned during the past two weeks. "You knew we weren't keeping her."
Mike is slumped in his chair and pouting. "Doesn't mean I have to like it," he grumbles.
Max shoots him a sideways look, then rolls her eyes. "Stop acting all grumpy when we both know how happy you are. You can't tell me you aren't thinking about Will right now."
"I can be happy about one thing and upset about another!"
"I highly doubt that when you're incapable of thinking two things at once."
He wants to gripe something back at her, but their teacher is approaching their table before he can get out the words, and then he has to bite back the urge to curse their teacher out when Poppy gets taken away and set with the rest of the flour bags at the front of the room.
It's so fucking stupid, but he's genuinely sad to leave her behind when the bell rings.
Max doesn't want to admit that she's upset about it, even though she is, and even though she knows that Mike can tell. Admitting to the fact that she got attached to a stupid sack of flour with a beanie on it is beyond embarrassing—but she's quiet at lunch, slouched more than usual and missing the weight of holding Poppy in her lap.
Honestly, screw Mike Wheeler. She's pretty sure his ridiculous sentimentality is some kind of contagious, because she never would have cared this much when she lived in California.
"Hey," Jane says, sitting on Max's left, nudging their shoulders together. Max looks over instantly, meets her eyes and embraces the distraction that is Jane Hopper's undivided attention. Jane smiles at her, soft and warm. "Can you keep teaching me after school?"
Max brightens instantly. "Yeah, of course! I'll meet you out front after the bell?"
Jane's smile grows, giving a little nod that makes her bangs fall over his eyes. Max feels Mike kick her under the table, no doubt sending her a shit-eating grin, but she ignores him, soaking in the warmth of Jane's smile and letting it pull her away from the lingering sadness.
What's there to be sad about when she's got Jane Hopper, right?
Jane falls again, and Max brings her to the Wheeler's basement, knowing full well that Mike is with Will at the Byers-Hopper's place. She places new band aids and says, "It's not a big deal, really. I fell a million times while learning. I still fall sometimes. You're getting the hang of it."
"You are a good teacher," Jane muses. Then, after a beat of silence, just as Max is smoothing out the last band aid, she asks, "Why did Mike say that you were cheating on him with me?"
Max thinks her heart stops. "Why did—what?"
There's a look of curiosity that Jane often wears, always trying to make sense of things, always wanting to observe and learn. Max loves it, loves the way Jane's brows pinch together as her mouth twitches, her dimple just barely peeking through. "In the hallway," Jane says, looking at Max with her wide, wonderful eyes. "I heard him. You said he was cheating on you with Will and he said that you were cheating on him with me. Why did he say that? Are you two dating?"
"No," Max says quickly, her face twisting up at the mere thought. I'm going to kill you, Wheeler. "He was just—it was just a joke," she quickly dismisses. "It was stupid. It didn't mean anything."
Jane blinks at Max once, then twice, before frowning. "Mike and Will are in love," she says.
Max kind of wants to die, a little bit. "Yeah. They're really obvious about it. Actually, that's why I was joking about him cheating on me, since we were pretend parents to Poppy, you know? It was mostly to tease him about how he feels about Will."
"So, he was teasing you back about how you feel about me," Jane states, like it's obvious.
And—yeah. Okay. It's pretty fucking obvious. Still, Max tries to offer a shrill, obnoxious laugh. "What? What do you—I mean, what does that—"
She stands, cutting Max off abruptly. "I like you a lot," she says easily. "Don't you like me? I thought you did, but then I thought that you and Mike were secretly dating, and now you're just being confusing. I like being your friend, Max. I love the idea of being your girlfriend."
And just as suddenly, Max doesn't want to die, because hearing the word girlfriend in Jane's voice is probably her new favorite sound in the world. She stands frozen for a moment, gobsmacked and jaw dropped, before pulling her shit together because there's no way in hell she's letting herself fuck up this opportunity. "I do like you," she rushes out quickly, eyes blown wide and heart thundering in her chest. "I love you, actually. That's why Mike and I kept teasing each other, 'cause he's in love with Will and I'm in love with you. And if you—if you really wanted to be my girlfriend, then I would love to be your girlfriend, too."
The frown on Jane's face vanishes in seconds, and then she's beaming, her bangs still hanging in her eyes and the band aids bright where they're wrapped around her knuckles. "Good," she says happily, and then promptly grabs Max by the face and kisses her.
Max sends a thank you to the universe and kisses her back like the world depends on it.
("I wonder if fate gave us Poppy so that we'd stop being totally hopeless."
"You don't believe in fate."
"No, but maybe having a flour child was the kick in the ass we needed to get our shit together. Maybe Poppy was a blessing or something. Maybe we were destined to cheat on each other."
"Shut the fuck up, Wheeler.")