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"Mike, can I come in?" I knock on his bedroom door, but it takes him a couple seconds to reply.
"Uh, y-yeah," he stutters from behind the door. He sounds nervous. Why would he be nervous?
"Hey," I say, opening the door to find him slouched at his desk pouring over what seems to be: a small compact mirror? I can see a bottle of some kind of makeup on the desk next to him. He's got a bottle of makeup remover in his hand and he's holding a tissue to his face.
"Mike, wha- are you wearing makeup?" I laugh, almost nervously, but I'm so confused right now.
He takes a while to respond, so long in fact that I repeat his name incase he didn't hear me, "Mike-?"
"Oh, ha- sorry. Uh, yeah. Yeah I am." He says, avoiding my eyes, still holding the tissue to his face.
Mike. Wearing makeup. And openly admiting it? What is happening?
"Oh, I didn't know you wore makeup. That's cool though," I say, trying to ease his very obvious nerves but he just laughs dryly.
"Hey, you alright?" I soften my voice and walk over, wrapping my arms around his neck from behind. But instead of tilting his head up to look at me like he always does, he looks down, staring blankly at the desk. Before I can say anything he squeezes his eyes shut but a tear falls onto the wood of the desk.
"Fuck," he whispers, barely audible.
I immediately unwrap my arms from around his neck and I spin him around in the desk chair so he's facing me. I crouch down so that I'm not towering over him and I take his hand, the other I rest on his thigh. He still has the tissue pressed firmly to his face.
"Mike, talk to me. Its just makeup- I don't care. Honestly." I say softly.
Then I reach up to move the tissue from his face but he stops me straight away.
"Don't-" Mike tries to continue, but he let's out a small sob.
"Mike, what's going on?" I'm worried now, what is he not telling me? Is he hurt? He's good at not telling anyone if something is wrong. What's so bad about wearing a bit of makeup? I have to admit I like to wear some in secret occasionally, not that I'd ever tell anyone.
"I- I- uh, God, Ok. If- if I just show you, can you not judge? Please." His face is heartbreaking, he looks so scared, "Please-" he repeats, looking at me like a kicked puppy.
"I'd never judge you Mike- you know that" I reassure him. I gently pull him off the chair down onto the floor with me, until he's sat facing me, with his legs around my waist so that we're closer. A couple tears still roll down his face and I wipe them away with my thumb.
"Ok- uh-" Mike let's out a shaky breath as he let's me move his hand away from his face.
My breath hitches. Just for a second.
Underneath is a scar. A massive red mark down his face, from between his nose and his left eye, onto his cheek. How did I not know about this? It's impossible to miss. I mean, how the fuck did he get it; and when? Surely I would've known, or at least noticed something; the mindflayer was defeated almost seven months ago, and we've been together for five of them. Its been months since any of us have been involved in any sort of physical fighting or combat. Plus it looks like it hurt like hell. He looks so ashamed, and it hurts me so much seeing him like this. He has no right to feel ashamed. It's just a scar.
"Oh,"
I cup his face with my hand and carefully trace up and down the scar with my thumb.
"Yeah, 'oh '," he repeats me, barely above a whisper, "Uhm, do you remember when we were thirteen-? A-and we were fighting the mindflayer in Starcourt-" he starts quietly, without me even asking or hinting. I suppose it's easier for him this way, without me going through all the obvious questions, to just explain everything.
"Yeah-?"
"Well uh, y'know Billy? He uh, kinda whacked me into this massive pipe thing," he laughs dryly, not meeting my gaze.
"Oh my god," I breathe, but he continues.
"So, uh my mom and Nance figured out how to cover it with makeup and then they taught me," Mike holds up the small bottle of makeup, waving it in the air slightly to make a point.
"I- I had no idea, why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think anyone would wanna see- and when we started dating, I didn't want you to see me any differently, or put you off 'cause I'm, well, y'know," he gestures his hand around his face and a new set of tears threaten him again. I can tell he's trying so hard to play it off and try to joke around it like always when he wants to avoid something, but I can tell that this is difficult for him.
"Mike, look at me," I hold his face in both hands now, forcing him to look at me, "I love you. Nothing is changing that. You know that."
"I love you too Will" he sniffles.
"And I think you're beautiful," I smile.
"You're just saying that," he looks at me doubtfully, and my heart breaks for him. Has no one ever told him that before?
"No. I mean it. I really mean it Mike. You're beautiful." I reassure him.
Mike gives me a weak smile, "I don't deserve you."
Then I hug him tight, tracing shapes into his back, just like when we were kid (an old habit that's never died), and he cries gently into my shoulder for a bit. I don't mind at all. I just want to know that he's ok.
When we do break apart I whisper, quiet enough for only Mike to hear (even though there's nobody else to hear),
"Y'know, I think it looks pretty badass actually- bitchin'," I grin at him.
And he laughs. An actual laugh.
I mean that too. I think he looks like some superhero straight out one of our comic books. The scar doesn't look menacing or scary either, although I suppose some could see it that way, it somehow suits him, or maybe its already growing on me.
"We should probably go to bed, it's getting late," I say. We get up and snuggle into Mike's bed, completely discarding the air mattress Karen kindly set out on the floor for me.
"Night Will," Mike whispers into the darkness, just after I switch off his bedside lamp.
"Night Mike," I whisper back.
Mike stays close to me the whole night.