Chapter Text
Knock, knock. Knock, knock. Knock.
Silence. A minute passes, then two. He tries again.
Knock, knock. Knock, knock. Knock.
The wind whistles, a chill crawling up Mike’s spine like prickled vines. It pinches, stings, but nothing is as strong as the dread that’s just beginning to curl in his stomach. He switches the bag of candy to his left hand, straightens, goes to knock again but sharply he turns to the sound of leaves crunching behind him. Under something, or maybe someone’s foot. He finds that his heart is pounding. Why hasn’t she answered the door? El knew he was coming, they had planned this weeks ago. What if she was hurt or what if she wasn’t there at all and she…disappeared? The dread only grows as he quickly turns towards the door, his hand ready to pound on the slab of wood until it miraculously opens.
The door pushes on, its hinges creak loudly as it spreads more and more open. He cautiously steps in but there is no El to be seen. Mike looks around as he quickly closes the door behind him, eyes scanning the place as he turns all six of the locks in an instant.
“El?” He calls.
“I’m in the shower!” Her sweet voice rings, muddled.
Mike lets out a sigh of relief but then his eyebrows furrow as places his backpack on the couch and takes off his coat, hanging it on a nearby hook. It’s overwhelmingly hot, the heat slapping him in the face after being so cold just a moment ago. He crotches down and messes with the dial of the heater, it somehow ends up on the highest setting. As he turns it down he calls to her:
“How did you know it was me?”
“Void.” El says simply.
He tries not to let the image of his naked girlfriend, wet, under the steady stream of a shower head infiltrate his mind. The water sliding down every crevice with ease while she thinks about him in the shower. No, he doesn’t even let it solidify into a thought. Mike, despite his blooming blush, lets himself navigate through the house as he always does. He toes off his shoes at the entrance, opens the cabinets, puts a bag of popcorn in the microwave, leans against the counter and waits.
Just as he pinches the sides of the too-hot popcorn bag and dumps it into a bowl, he hears the bathroom door open.
He turns just in time to see El emerge from a cloud of steam. Her hair is damp and curling around her face, long enough to wet the straps of the blue tank top that sit on her delicate shoulders. Mike’s mouth dries, it’s a pretty tight shirt. Not exactly tight but the kind of cotton material that hugs her just right, just enough that he can see the unmistakable curve of her waist. It’s accompanied by a pair of striped sleeping shorts, they hang low on her hips and cut off barely at her mid-thigh. As she walks out the shirt rides up just slightly, exposing a sliver of skin.
He tries not to make it obvious that he’s looking at her with indecency because he can’t seem to look away. When she sees him she smiles, rushing towards him with her arms out. Mike forces himself to move just before she reaches him, letting his hands curl around her waist as she practically jumps into his arms.
He holds her tight, taking a deep breath. Letting his fingers brush against her warm back.
“You smell like strawberries.” He utters, he realizes, out loud. Just before he can kick himself for saying something so creepy she lets out a short breathy laugh next to his ear.
“You smell like you.”
He blushes again and separates to get a good look at her. She’s gazing up at him, blinking with those pretty brown eyes of hers. How is it that she seems to get more beautiful everyday? She hooks her fingers behind his shoulders and suddenly brings him close to her face.
“Happy Halloween.” She says, her voice suddenly deep, meant to scare him. Instead he smiles.
“Happy Halloween,” he offers simply, then squeezes her tight to his body and shakes her around like a ragdoll. El erupts in a fit of giggles. He lets out a dorky, awful, screeching laugh. “Mwah ha ha ha ha, El Hopper. I’ve got you right where I want you!”
He stops for just a moment, catching her confused yet adoring gaze, then shakes her again, punctuating it with another screeching laugh—somehow louder than the last. When he finally puts her down, she takes the opportunity to slip away from him.
“Now, you’re actually scaring me,” she says, still smiling. She looks over his shoulder and then she’s gone, walking towards the kitchen.
“You brought candy,” she murmurs, glancing at the bag.
“For you.”
She tilts her head. “You didn’t dress up this year.”
“Well,” Mike says, “technically, I am dressed up.”
El looks at him, confused, as Mike spreads his arms with a grin.
“As your future husband,” he beams.
El blinks.
“You should’ve been Darry,” she says wistfully, a smartie already in her mouth. “From The Outsiders.”
“And give in to your Patrick Swayze fantasies?” Mike says flatly, already turning away. “No way. I have some self respect.”
He can hear her chuckle as he settles onto the sofa, opening his backpack as he takes out each and every VHS he has.
“Okay, El.” He starts, “I brought The Shining, Little Shop of Horrors, The Fly and Poltergeist. I wasn’t sure how scary you’d want the scary movie to be so I tried to pick a good array of fright. Which one sounds best?”
When he doesn’t hear a response he looks up and sees El, stepping near the couch. There’s the bowl of popcorn pressed against her chest in her left hand and in her right the bag of candy. Her hips jutted out and she’s wearing this look, the one she usually has right before she gets whatever she wants. He gulps.
“Mike,” she nearly whines, “I really wanted to watch Dirty Dancing.”
“Dir– Dirty Dancing?” He sputters, “El, that’s not a Halloween movie.”
“I know.” She sighs.
“It’s not even scary.”
“It’s a little scary…” She offers quietly, causing Mike to give her a look.
She settles the bowl and bag on the coffee table and scootches closer to him. Her hands crawl up and around his shoulders again, his fall naturally to her outer thigh. He’s really trying to be strong here.
“Mike.” She says again, softer.
“El,” He tries, tries with everything he has not to give in, “We’ve watched Dirty Dancing before. We’ve watched it a few times actually. You don’t remember because you always fall asleep after the first 20 minutes.”
“Well,” She shrugs innocently, “I won’t this time.”
She’s looking up at him, not quite pouting but something like it. Her eyes are wide and brown, lashes unbearably long. El blinks slowly as she plays with the hair on the nape of his neck, causing him to shiver. Then, she seals it with a sad sigh. He is a weak man and she knows it.
“Please, Mike?” She nearly whispers.
A very weak man.
“Okay,” Mike nods, accepting defeat. “Okay, fine. We’ll watch Dirty Dancing.”
Her face practically lights up, smiling wide as she pulls him closer and kisses him in gratitude. The kiss itself is soft and slow, his lips captured between hers for just a moment before she pulls away. Mike, however, chases it, leaning in. She gasps in surprise and quickly kisses him back, smiling as their lips brush. She holds him in her hands and once it ends she pecks his lips, again and again and again before pulling him away.
When Mike opens his eyes, El is already watching him, expectant, her look quietly asking please put the movie on, dear. He sighs, but there’s no real resistance in it as he gets up, takes the wretched tape from its box, and slips it into the player. Mike waits for the image to bloom across the grated television screen, and when it does, he presses play on Dirty Dancing for what must be the sixth time.
He turns back to see her already in her usual position, her back against the arm of the sofa. When she sees him looking she lifts her legs slightly so he can sit underneath, a small smile on her face. Mike shifts in, scootching closer and closer until El is basically on his lap. She leans on him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder as a soft sigh escapes her lips.
“Comfortable?” Mike asks, draping the blanket over them both.
She tilts her head up toward him, smiling. “Very.”
The movie plays, just as it always has. Baby arrives at the resort, attends the dance, trails after the workers. Mike’s barely paying attention, only glancing down when the employees start grinding on one another, and that’s when he notices El—fast asleep, drooling on his shoulder.
He huffs a quiet laugh, not even thirty minutes in.
Again it’s just him, Patrick Swayze and El’s ever soft breathing. Despite how much he detests this movie he doesn’t move to turn it off, not willing to risk waking up El. Instead, he rubs his fingers up and down her now limp arm and watches her. It’s nice to have her so near; so calm.
Lately, after days of grueling training and nights of makeshift schoolwork, whenever he and El find themselves together, she falls asleep. It doesn’t matter what they’re doing—watching a movie, reading a book, helping her with her crafts, playing a card game, even just sitting in silence. If he’s near, she’s never far from her breathing slowing, shoulders relaxing, completely at ease as she drifts off.
Mike doesn’t mind it, in fact, he relishes it. Taking quiet pride in being able to calm her enough to fall asleep, watching intently and not having to feel like a creep for just how much he stares at her.
Mike keeps his eyes on her. Her cheek is pressed against his chest, her mouth slightly agape, eyes twitching in sleep but never enough to actually wake her. He presses his lips into her hair and kisses her head as the scent of strawberry shampoo fills his nose again. He stays there for a while, chin resting atop her head as the movie passes him by.
When Hungry Eyes starts to play, El stirs, just as she always does. She blinks awake slowly, right as the practice montage flickers across the television screen. The realization makes her freeze—she fell asleep again. Slowly, she looks up at Mike, a shy smile tugging at her lips. He looks down at her, wearing an unimpressed expression that Mike could swear makes her cheeks warm.
“Morning.” He mutters, half smiling.
El lets out a small sound of protest, that half-pout appearing on her lips again, but doesn’t say a word. She turns back, settling against his chest, eyes fixed on the TV. She watches intently, as if making up for the thirty-five minutes of the movie she just missed. He takes a moment to brush her hair back, El leans into the touch.
“You didn’t miss much,” he murmurs close to her ear and then kisses her cheek. She shoots him a mock glare, though her lips twitch with a smile.
The movie plays on, the ever familiar scenes rolling across the screen. After the confrontation with her father, Baby enters Johnny’s room. He holds her, dances with her, moving her side to side like a sack of potatoes. She’s pressed against his chiseled abs.
No way dancing gets you that ripped, Mike thinks, shaking his head in disbelief. Total unrealistic storytelling, Emilio Ardolino.
A man sings loudly as the two basically flail on top of one another. It’s all soaked in this warm lighting and heavy tension. Mike, honestly, isn’t thinking too much about it past the fact that Baby probably has a headache with the way Johnny is whipping her around. El, on the other hand, goes quiet.
When Patrick Swayze, ever so slowly, begins to lift Baby’s shirt, the movie suddenly stops—as if the pause button has been pressed by some invisible force. Then, all there is silence.
For a moment, Mike grins, thinking the tape has finally given out after being watched so many times. But when he looks at El, she’s completely still, her gaze fixed on the frozen scene, lips pressed together.
“Uh…” Mike says, “El?”
A beat.
“Did you pause the movie?”
She turns in Mike’s arms, just far away to look at him.
“Yes.”
Another moment passes. Mike’s eyebrows furrow at her suddenly nervous expression. He leans in slightly, his voice soft but steady.
“Hey, is everything okay?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifts again, fingers twisting nervously. She glances down for a moment, then back at him, seemingly unsure of how to answer. Now she’s really worrying him. El takes a deep breath and speaks.
“Mike,” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you ever think about… making love?”
Mike can feel his eyes widen, his mouth dry. There’s no way he heard her correctly. She looks up at him, anxiousness still in her eyes. Mike's mouth opens then closes and opens again.
“You…you mean like having sex?” He croaks.
“Yes.”
Does he think about it? It’s all he thinks about! Now more than ever. There had been countless bathroom runs after makeout sessions over the years. Heated dreams that left him with nothing but her name on his lips and soiled sheets in the morning. He was a sixteen-year-old boy in a steady relationship with a girl so far out of his league that a part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. And yet it never does. So often he catches himself staring, marveling at the fact that she was really here, really his, and still wondering how he had gotten so lucky. El is all soft curves, and doe eyes, and deep kisses that she reserves for him and only him. He’s become it with how much he thinks about it.
But he doesn’t say that, instead he stutters, pitifully:
“Yeah. I– I think about it…like a nor– normal amount.”
El hides her gaze for a moment, then looks up at him.
“With me?” she asks, almost scared he’ll disagree. Mike gapes at her, as if that were even a question.
“Of course with you!”
Her brow furrows slightly, searching his face. “Then… why do you never say anything?”
“Well. I–” Mike licks his lips, “I guess I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by bringing it up. Or make you think that I'm, like, demanding it from you or something. And I definitely don’t want you to feel like I’m the kind of guy that only wants you for that sort of thing.”
El shakes her head. A small, earnest, smile on her lips,“I would never think that.”
She looks away for a moment, letting the words hang between them. Then she meets his eyes again, quieter this time.
“So you want to… with me?”
“Yes,” Mike says, sure, “El, I want to. A lot. With you and only you. Whenever you– uh, want to…with me.”
He flushes but El seems pleased with his answer and nods.
“Ok,” A beat, “ Cool.”
Mike returns it, taking a deep breath.
“Cool.”
Suddenly, the movie begins to play again, and El, as though nothing has happened, settles back against Mike’s aching chest. He takes a slow breath, trying to steady himself as he rubs gently up and down her arm as before. Just when he thinks he’s about to reach some sort of normalcy after that conversation, the movie pauses.
This time, a moment doesn’t pass before El turns to him. She blinks, her expression steady, and asks:
“How about now?”