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Mike, so competitive, always the overachiever. She should’ve known he’d be like this.
Last night, they had a conversation. One they had been avoiding, whether they knew it or not. They had talked about how they kept up with the loneliness, the nauseating deep loneliness that crept up at night, when it was cold, when they saw elderly couples at the supermarket or caught glimpse of young lovers just like them once, sneaking a kiss when they thought no one was looking.
Mike had felt a sense of both shame and pride when he admitted he was never able to go all the way with anybody else. Sure, he went on a date or two after pressure from his sister and friends. He had a few drunken hook ups that ended with his head in a toilet bowl. But that was about it.
The party questioned him endlessly about it, asking him if he ever craved sex or simply physical touch.The answer was, of course he did. But intimacy without El felt wrong—foreign—like he was betraying her. It wasn’t a feeling he could just get rid of. She was his first girlfriend, his first kiss, his first hand hold, for God’s sake. He thinks his body must’ve become accustomed to her, craving her and her alone. And the fact he could not have her, not in any real sense, did nothing to stop said needs.
(He found himself dreaming of her sometimes. Images of El adorned in lace and silk: under him, over him. He felt an immense amount of guilt afterwards. She was gone, had left so horrifically, and here he was thinking of her in such depraved ways. If his nana were still alive, she’d say he needed to go to church and “cleanse his mind of the devil.” And still, he would fall asleep the next night– most nights– hoping she would come to him again.)
A part of him had expected her to share his inclination, as foolish as that idea was. He knew he had no right to be upset. El was a grown woman, twenty-three years old, and the time apart had done her well, if you asked him. And she had spent so much time alone. It would be wrong to expect her to deny herself pleasure and intimacy—something she so deeply craved—hoping that something, someone, could fill the Mike-shaped hole in her heart.
Nothing ever did—But she still owed it to herself to try, although she often thought to herself that he might’ve been it for her. That she was lucky enough to get one true love in this life and it’d be pointless, and even greedy, to hope for another.
She never really liked the very few romantic interests she had either, she shared. Always keeping them at arms length, never willing to fully give herself up. At points, it was easier to take her clothes off and numb the ache in her chest that called Mike’s name, than to tell them the truth about who she was, what she went through, and what truly she longed for. Despite everything, after all these years, Mike still knew her more intimately than anyone else.
The only one who came close was Ada—the close-in-age daughter of a very kind couple who had done more for El than she could ever thank them for. Ada had held her through nights when she missed Hawkins and her family deeply, when flings did nothing to numb the excruciating loneliness, when she needed a drink—always willing to listen. Mike was glad she had a friend, it was all he wanted for her. He just desperately wished he could’ve been there for her, too.
It was all fair, and despite the jealousy simmering in his blood, he understood.
But male ego was a fragile, fragile thing.
Because if Mike wasn’t her first, then he had to be her best.
El’s back hit her soft, floral bedsheets gently, but his kisses were anything but. His mouth attacked every inch of skin he could reach—her neck, her collarbone, the soft flesh under her ear that he learned made her shiver back when they discovered necking over half a decade ago.
“Mike-” she said, caught between a gasp and a giggle at his relentlessness.
“El.” He pulled away, looking at her eyes for any hesitation. Her hair fanned out across the pillow beneath her, framing her face, and for a split second she looked painfully angelic, like something out of a dream. Upon seeing nothing but pure adoration, he moved his gaze back to her lips.
“El, I love you.”
He swallowed, thumb brushing lightly along her jaw as if to convince himself she was real. “I can’t believe I have you like this, with me. I thought—” He let out a small, shaky breath. “I thought this version of you was something I’d only ever see in my dreams.”
“I missed you. I missed you so much.” The words slipped out of him like a sigh, pulled straight from his lungs. His rambling, although tender and vulnerable, brought back memories of simpler times. She smiled, teasingly, her finger reaching up to trace the curve of his cheek. He had always been so pretty when he was looking at her like this, desperate and wide-eyed.
“Yeah? You missed me?”
Mike answered with something caught between a whimper and a hum, leaning into her delicate touch.
She brushed her mouth near his ear. “Then show me.”
He nodded, eager to obey. His mouth captures hers in a harsh kiss. It wasn't gentle at first, too much feeling, too little patience, afraid she might disappear. She softened into it instead of pulling away, let him have the kiss for a heartbeat longer before she moved. Her hands came up slowly, deliberately, palms warm as they framed his face. Thumbs brushed along his jaw, gentle pressure, grounding him. It was a familiar touch, one she’d used when his thoughts ran too fast.
When his fingers caught on the hem of her shirt, he hesitated, forehead resting against hers, breath uneven. She didn’t even let him think about it, grabbing the loose material and lifting it up off her head.
When he pulled back and really looked at her, bare for the first time, something soft and wrecked crossed his face. His hands came up slowly, reverently, like he was afraid the moment might shatter if he touched her too hard. That she’d slip through his fingers as if she was nothing but a hyper-realistic hallucination, courtesy of his tortuous mind. It wouldn’t be the first time.
His thumbs brushed over her ribs, feeling her breathe, feeling how real she was beneath his palms. He had always thought she was devastatingly beautiful, thought her body was better than anything he’d ever seen on TV or in the Victoria Secret posters he avoided at the mall, but this was something entirely different. She’d grown in ways that were impossible to miss—the gentle curve of her waist, the fullness at her hips, even two piercings on her ear lobes. Something in his chest tightened at the realization that the girl he once had was gone, only traces of familiarity left– her 011 tattoo, a small scar on the side of her ribs, the way she leaned into his touch. His eyes burned, glossy and unguarded, and when he swallowed it did nothing to ease the ache. Instead, he bent down to place a kiss on her neck. His nose rubbed against her skin, soft and warm. Whiffs of vanilla lotion, honey, and pheromones. She smelled like El. She smelled like home.
El felt the wetness before she saw it. A tear slipping down his cheek. She reached for him instinctively, fingers curling around his wrists, grounding him, anchoring him. “Hey,” she whispered, throat tight. “I’m here.”
He clutched her like he needed proof, like letting go might undo everything they’d clawed their way back to. His hands slid over her back, warm and desperate, tracing the line of her spine, the gentle dip at her lower back that made his breath hitch again.
“You were always beautiful,” he said into her skin. “But this—” He pulled back just enough to look at her again, eyes red, “I loved you then, and I—God, I love you now.”
His words were desperate, breathless, and it made her blush. She loved feeling desired by him, even after all these years.
His shirt came off next. She ran her hands down his shoulders, broader than she remembered, with twice the amount of freckles. The passage of time made her heart clench. She’s pleasantly distracted from any bad thoughts when his hands move down to her waist. Her shorts came undone with shaking fingers, pushed down with less care than before, urgency bleeding through the tenderness. She stepped out of them, eyes locked on his, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might split her open. She hadn’t felt like this, felt so alive, in years. Only Mike could do that, she noticed. Only Mike could set her soul on fire the way the heroines in her cheesy romance flicks described, that overwhelming, all-consuming feeling. Her body only felt hotter as Mike's kisses moved further down south. He’s sure to take his time on her, and there wasn’ta square inch of skin that was given mercy from his greedy mouth. And when his nimble fingers started trailing down her stomach, El wasn’t sure she could get any hungrier.
“Mike, please.” She pleaded.
“What do you want?” he asked earnestly, ripping his mouth from her chest. He caught how she dragged her please in this… begging sort of way. He liked it, and locked that fact away in his mind for later.
“Touch me. I want to feel your hands o-on me.”
She was nervous asking him. Mike didn’t like that. He wanted her to be able to ask him for anything she ever wanted. She had spent so long depriving herself, and so he wasted no time in doing the opposite. He ignored the tremble in his fingers as they move into the damp fabric between her legs. The moment he made contact, she let out a sharp, breathless gasp.
He gently drew circles on her clit, once, twice, testing the waters, watching as her face contorted and her back arched like lightning shot up her spine.
“Mike.” She immediately whined, reaching up to pull him for a kiss, desperate to feel his mouth on hers, desperate to feel even closer.
He went faster, and noticing her reaction, dropped another kiss onto her trembling lips. “Does that feel good, El?” He asked keenly against her mouth.
El had never been one for words, and responded with a pathetic mewl. His fingers then moved lower, prodding at her entrance. “Do you trust me?” he murmured, voice low but terribly eager.
El gave him a lazy, knowing smile, chest rising and falling quickly. “Always.”
He leaned closer, letting his fingers slide in, slow and careful. She gasped, her hand moving to his shoulder, gripping hard. He brought his mouth to her ear, “What about now? Do you like that? God, El, I think you do, from the way you're dripping all over my hand.”
He couldn’t help but wonder, a little bitterly, if he was the only person who could make her feel like this. El already had her answer in her head, and maybe she could get the words out later, when she wasn’t seconds from orgasm: that she loved him, that he’s the only person whose ever gotten her this aroused this quickly, and that, despite the fact he hadn’t even fucked her yet, no one else could ever compare.
He watched her closely, brows furrowed in concentration. Every reaction was caught, the way her hips tilted and arched to meet the movement of his fingers, the tiny shiver that ran down her spine when he hit just the right spot, what made her gasp and dig her nails deeper into his skin. He studied her and the mechanisms of her body like a book, memorizing each response, devoted to finding out exactly what made her feel good.
The sound of her voice, wretched and urgent, made him aware of the control he held in the tips of his fingers. Maybe, one day, Mike could admit this to someone— admit how having El like this brought a strange surge of power that he reveled in. How having the most powerful person on the planet, someone who could kill with just a tilt of her head, become putty in his weak, slender hands—threatening to fall apart at the quick work of his fingers—was something terrifyingly thrilling.
The coil in El’s stomach grew tighter and tighter by the second, her gasps turning into desperate keens and small words like ‘yes’ and ‘Mike.’ She held onto his shoulder, her eyes big and pleading as they stared up at his, brows peaking with raw need. She looked so pretty like this, so needy, he thought. He had missed her so much, it made his chest ache. He pushed the feeling down, forcing himself to focus entirely on her. Maybe if I just… he thought, bringing his thumb back to her most sensitive spot, rubbing in faster circles. Her breath hitched sharply, then broke into a loud, guttural groan.
“I got you. I always got you.” He murmured with a soft kiss to her sweaty temple, to her cheek, to her jaw.
Part of her still couldn’t believe he was real, with her, making her feel this way. But when his hands push—push—push her tumbling off the edge, she has no choice but to believe it. She arched against him, letting out broken, shuddering whines, and he could feel the tension in every fiber of her muscles as it broke, over and over, in small, desperate bursts. He rubbed the side of her arm as she came down from her high, shivering like she had a cold.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling, fingers clutching the floral sheets. The little cabin smelled like woodsmoke and vanilla, warm and quiet around them, sunlight spilling through the curtains, catching the dust in the air. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw Mike over her, the rays of light catching the edges of his hair, casting a warm glow around his face. His brown eyes were slightly widened, amazed.
Before he could say anything, she reached up, tangling her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him down. Their lips met, and the kiss was immediate, urgent, hungry. Like she wanted to give him everything he just gave her with her mouth. She wanted to do more, but it seemed Mike had different plans. His hands trailed down the soft plane of her stomach, slow and deliberate, his lips followed. Butterflies flared in her stomach, along her spine, everywhere his mouth and hands touched.
“Mike…” She whimpered, making him still.
He paused, looking up at her. “El, can I? I’ve… thought about this.” His voice was weak and earnest, vulnerable.
El’s cheeks flushed a soft pink at the request. This was Mike of course, always thinking of her, even in his own fantasies.
“Don’t you want to…”
Men, El had discovered from a mix of personal experience and testimonies of the women Ada took her out drinking with, were big on reciprocity when it benefited them. They didn’t consistently (aka, more than once) want to do things for you and get nothing in return. I’ll go down on you if you give me a blowjob first, one of Ada’s ex-boyfriends had said to her once, and El was surprised to hear she still did it. I mean, it’s only fair, she justified, but to El it was about the principle. She didn’t really need anyone to do anything for her, especially if they felt entitled to something in return, and would’ve sent him packing. Mike wasn’t like most men she had met, though.
Now it was his turn to blush. “I do. But.. I want to make you feel good first.”
She had read about it in a few books, and always wondered what it’d feel like to have someone down there. That was one thing she hadn’t dared to let anyone try. It felt intimate, too intimate for anyone. Too intimate for anyone but Mike. She looked down at him, his eyes blown wide with love, desire and perhaps a hint of vulnerability, and then she nodded.
Mike's kisses trailed down from her stomach to her inner thighs, her breathing getting heavier and heavier as he got closer and closer to–
“Oh my God.”
When his nose nudged against her clit, she jerked back, like she was trying to run away — an instinct they’d both grown all too familiar with. She was already sensitive from before, nerves raw and humming. Every touch felt too close, too real. She suddenly felt vulnerable, finally understanding why the act he was performing on her was considered sacred. She wanted to run, but she also wanted to stay. Stay forever. Please stay forever, oh, I'm so sorry–
And Mike didn’t let her slip; his hands gripped her hips and held her steady as his mouth claimed her, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. Then, for a split second, he felt angry. Angry that she’d left, bitter that she’d deprived him of this, resentful that anyone else had been allowed to touch her. He wanted to halt his movements completely, to have her know what it felt like to so desperately want something, and have the rug pulled out from under you.
But then she whined again, arched her back to feel him closer, and the anger in his chest softened, melting away like sorbet beneath the sun. He never could stay mad at her for long. Especially when nothing ever felt like it was her fault.
El, his El. All alone. He wondered how hard it must’ve been to navigate her youth on her own, wandering through a country whose language she barely knew, how many lonely nights she must’ve spent with no one to turn to. He wanted to make it better. El was nearly sobbing now, begging him not to stop.
It felt too good, there had to be a catch. She had dreamed about him like this more times than she could count—his hands, his mouth, the weight of him between her thighs—waking up unsatisfied and aching, reaching for someone she knew she couldn’t have. Her body felt the same now, warm and trembling, pleasure winding tighter and tighter, and she kept waiting for it to vanish.
Don’t stop? He could die here— he thought— on his knees. He’d always believed that having someone serve her was the very least she deserved. He tried to show it in every small way he could: grabbing things off the top shelf before she thought to, offering to tie her ponytail for her, bending down to retie her shoelaces before she tripped. And now, here he was, giving—and she was taking it, taking it so well.
He wished she took more. He wished she was selfish, that she picked him and the life he wanted for them, even if it seemed impossible. He wished that she was greedy the same way he was. The thought makes him move his tongue faster, and it has El gasping and tightening her hold on his dark curls. His knees sunk deeper onto her floor, bones pressing against the wood, but he doesn’t feel a thing, too focused on the way his El is crying out under his ministrations. Her hands tightened in his hair until it almost hurt, her knees trying to lock together behind his head, he knew it was only a matter of time. And God, he was so unbearably grateful to know her — to be the one who understood her body like this.
She wailed, louder and louder, like his name was salvation, and it did wonders for his ego. El had never been one to be quiet about how she was feeling, except when she lied on purpose.
But this wasn’t a lie. A sharp cry tore out of her as her body went rigid and then gave in, pleasure overtaking her all at once, leaving her shivering and breathless above him. This was real.
He climbed over her, slotting himself between her legs perfectly. His hands find their way to her back, the skin soft and warm like he always remembered. He pulled her impossibly close, their chests pressed together like their hearts could combine. This time, he kissed her like he wanted to devour her even more. They stayed like that for a bit, stealing kisses as their breathing slowly evened out, mouths brushing and finding each other again, neither of them ready to fully part. His thumb traced lazy circles against her spine, and every time she sighed into his mouth, he kissed her deeper, memorizing the way she felt beneath him. They broke apart when she tugged at his belt and whined,
“Hm. You’re still wearing too many clothes.”
He smiled, slow and almost smug, and leaned back just enough to undo his belt. He pushed his jeans down and off, then climbed back over her, settling between her legs again.
For a second, he just looked at her.
She was laid out against the soft floral sheets, her hair fanned around her head like a halo, cheeks flushed, lips pink and smiling. She looked so vulnerable like this, laid open for him. She looked heavenly.
But despite being sweet as candy, El was far from an angel. He knew the stubborn streak in her, how she spoke without thinking, the way she could burn everything down the second she felt cornered. He knew the fire in her. He knew the want.
He saw it flicker across her face now, not fear but anticipation. Her hands slid up his back, pulling him closer. She didn’t look fragile beneath him. She looked ready.
He moved slowly when he pressed forward, careful at first, watching her face more than anything else. The stretch made her inhale sharply, her nails digging into the skin of his back, and he stilled, giving her time. When she relaxed beneath him, he eased the rest of the way in, both of them exhaling at the same time. For a moment, they stayed like that, foreheads nearly touching, adjusting.
Then her hips shifted deliberately, urging him on. Mike leaned down and kissed her. His tongue felt heavy against hers, his breath hot in her mouth, and she couldn’t stop herself from making those “ngh, nmf, ungh” noises she thought she’d never make when the pressure of his hands created more space for him between her legs. He hammered faster and harder inside her, and it felt incredible, like she had reached a new level of pleasure, so she ripped her mouth away from his just to breathe.
“Yeah?” he rasped, deep creases forming between his eyebrows as he furrowed them. She gasped, glancing down between them to where they were joined, crashing into each other like waves against a reef.
It all still felt hazy, like a dream. He’d lost count over the amount of times messy I love you’s tumbled out of his mouth, but he knew she was real, she had to be. It all felt too real, the way her hips harshly met his own, her voice going hoarse while she yelled out his name over and over.
“More, more,” she begged. Or demanded. Mike couldn’t tell.
He was scared that if he pressed her into the mattress any harder he’d hurt her, or the wooden bed frame that already seemed to be on its last leg. But he knew that sometimes, even in ways a lot more innocent, El needed a firmer touch, something to keep her grounded and remind her that she was here with him, safe.
And so he did exactly what she asked. He slid his hand under her thigh and lifted it higher, draping her leg over his hip so he could pull her closer. If the stretch hurt, she didn’t show it; her fingers only clutched tighter at his shoulders, a sharper gasp slipping from her lips as he drove into her with more purpose. El was whimpering like a wounded animal, the headboard audibly slamming against her wall, and Mike has half a mind to wonder if her neighbours, the nice elderly couple he met just yesterday, will complain.
He didn’t really care though, when El pulled him back from any other thoughts except her by grabbing his hand, trailing it down to the spot between her legs he’d gotten acquainted with.
Through breaths, she begged, “Touch me there.”
Mike smiled, this El knew what she wanted, bossier than ever. He was more than happy to give it to her, give everything she ever asked for. But not without a little teasing, he was still Mike Wheeler, after all. “What’s the magic word, El?” he cooed against her mouth.
“Ugh,” she groaned and shot back, “You’re still such a m-mouth breather,” though the insult dissolved into a breathless gasp when he rolled his hips, just enough to remind her who held the advantage.
He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, and the sound pulled something warm and familiar out of her chest. She had missed him. She had missed the stupid games they’d play. Once, he’d tried to flirt by holding something over her head, grinning like he’d won, only for his face to fall when she plucked it out of his hand with her powers and told him nice try. He felt embarrassed after, and she apologized with ten kisses on each cheek. From then on, she’d promised to try and humour him whenever it felt right. Like now. If he wanted to pull at her strings, to see how far he could push, two could play at that game. Her eyes get big and wet, her bottom lip trembling just barely as she pleaded so softly,
“I love you. Please.”
It was the first time she said those three words since they started this dance, and now he really wished she hadn’t. He pressed down on her clit, but had to still all his movements seconds later.
“Mike?”
His forehead dropped to her shoulder, a half-laugh, half-groan escaping him.
“I’m sorry. I—I have to stop. I was gonna…” He trailed off, words dissolving into a frustrated exhale.
She smiled at that, biting her lip to hold back a giggle.
“Oh, it’s okay. You can,” she said sweetly, trying to draw him back down with her, her leg hooking around his waist to keep him there. She didn’t just want him close. She wanted to see him break, wanted to see him soft and vulnerable, wanted to give him the same pleasure he had been giving so generously.
He held her leg in place. “No. No.” He shook his head, slightly delirious, spinning from how turned on he was, but still adamant. “I have to—I have to be—”
“Be what?” she asked, softer now. She searched for his eyes, but he avoided her gaze. Eyes shut as he got the words out like they burned,
“I have to be the best.”
“Oh, Mike.”
Her voice melted when she said it. She reached up and cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to look at her properly. Her thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, grounding him, steadying the frantic edge in his eyes.
“You are,” she said quietly, holding his gaze. “Nobody has ever compared to you, Mike.”
Her eyes didn’t leave his, they didn’t dare, while her hands shifted down to his shoulders, using them and her powers as leverage to push him gently onto his back.
“Every time,” she breathed, her voice soft as she settled her thighs over him, “all I was chasing was you.” Her hands pressed into his chest, anchoring herself there as she found a slow rhythm. Her nails dug in slightly, just a little bit of pain, a little ache. “What you made me feel.”
“And nothing ever worked.”
She leaned down and kissed him, fast and unhesitating. Her long brunette hair fell around their faces, creating a curtain, hiding them from the world. “No one makes me feel the way you do–” She whispered against his mouth, gasping when he reached a spot inside her that made her brain go fuzzy, “Because I love you.”
His hands found her waist with quickness, digits tightening as he stared up at her with something caught between awe and disbelief,
“I love you, El.”
Her mouth closed over his and his hands slid to her hips, fingers digging in as he pulled her down harder, urging her into a faster rhythm. The sudden shift tore a sharp yelp from her throat and she was sure flushed, heat blooming across her cheeks, sweat dampening her skin and making strands of hair cling to her forehead and the curve of her neck. A total utter mess. But, Mike’s mess.
Soon, Mike can’t control himself anymore. The small sliver of restraint he has was beaten away by each roll of her hips. And she loved it. Gasps, groans, half-formed words spilled from his mouth, raw and wrecked. She was merciless. She loved the way he couldn’t stop touching her, hands spread across her waist, her spine, her thighs, anywhere they could reach.
“God, El,” he choked out, head tipping back before he forced himself to look at her again. “We fit so well. It’s like you were made for me. Shit—”
Heat flooded her skin at the thought, at the idea of being that perfectly his. He pulled her down into a kiss before he could say anything else, rough and hungry and a little needy, and like he could read her mind, he pleaded against her mouth, “I’m yours, El.”
His eyes searched hers, wide and almost pleading, all bravado gone. “Are you? Are you mine?”
She brought his hand to chest, holding it over her heart, “I’m yours, Mike. I’m all yours.”
The words wrecked him. His face dipped into the curve of her neck and a strained sound escaped him, muffled against her skin.
“El— I—”
El’s eyes filled with determination. She was close—so close—this being the final push she needed.
Her hands slid to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair as she drew him back just enough to press their noses together, breathing each other's oxygen. Her gaze locked onto his, intense when she demanded, “Do it," and even more so when she added, “Inside me.”
She watched as Mike’s eyes widened like saucers, “El I’m not wearing a–”
They probably should have discussed this, and her IUD, before all this. But she’s always found it hard to control herself when it came to him. She cupped his face again, forcing him to focus on her. “It’s fine,” she breathed. “Please. Just trust me.”
“I want it.” she pleaded, words rough around the edges. “You make me feel so good, Mike, just— please—”
God did she want it—his face was a whole other world of perfect when he let go. Forever guarded, cautious Mike. Even when she’d hurt him, when he was truly scared, he'd never wanted to seem weak. Too vulnerable to look after her.
“Oh, God– El.” he sobbed.
But when she made him come apart inside her, she could see into the deepest corners of his soul, opening him up. And she loved everything she saw.
Perfect.
The sight of him, face twisted and mouth open, sent a jolt of electricity down her spine, her shoulders jerking. She wasn’t sure what was different this time. Maybe it was him. But it hit deeper than it ever had before, blooming low in her stomach and rushing outward all at once, wild and consuming. Her eyes began rolling to the back of her head.
The lamp beside them popped with a sharp crack, the bulb flashing white before going dark.
His name fell from her mouth in a broken cry, a pure and guttural sound that Mike felt in the depths of his being even as his ears were ringing.
“Jesus Christ.”
They stayed close, limbs still tangled, and he turned toward her instinctively, curling in so his face found the hollow of her shoulder. She could barely get her bearings before she realized Mike was still breathing heavily beneath her, and then he was sobbing into her shoulder. The release of oxytocin pushing out every emotion he’d been holding back.
“El, I love you,” he cried into her skin, voice muffled and raw. “Please, please don’t leave me again. I—I can’t live without you.”
After everything they’d just done, after letting her see him so bare and broken, after seeing her laid open for him, so trusting, beneath him with her hair fanned out and her cheeks pink, he couldn’t imagine going back. The thought of waking up every morning to a face other than hers felt like it would be torture. Something had shifted permanently, and there was no version of him that could ever return to that empty life he’d lived without her.
“Please stay.”
His voice was so broken it made her chest ache. There was no anger in it. No demand. Just pure need. He sounded just like he had that night—the night he begged her to stay and she had to leave. His tortured sobs had followed her for years after that, a not so silent reminder of what she had to leave behind.
“Shh, it’s okay,” she cooed softly, petting his hair, as she finally gave him the words she should have said before.
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
He let out a soft whimper at that, too far gone to even think about how pathetic it might have sounded. They stay like that, seeking refuge in each other's arms, for a bit. Her hands stayed in his hair, even when he finally lifted his head from her neck, tears drying on his cheeks as a hazy smile spread across his face.
El grinned, one finger tracing along his jaw before nudging his nose teasingly, “Three times, huh? Must be some sort of record. And I’m going to have to replace that light bulb.”
He huffed out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelief, eyes still a little glassy as he looked at her. “God, all these years and you still know me so well. There's nothing I love more than excelling.”
“You mean being better than other people?” she asked, arching a brow.
“Yup.”
She shifted then, easing down beside him and guiding him gently onto his back. He went easily, and she curled into him, her head settling over his chest. His arm wrapped around her instructively, and it felt like coming home after a long day. Her ear was pressed to chest, listening as his heart beat and breathing slowly evened out beneath her. His fingers moved lazily along her spine, grounding himself in the steady feel of her. She was here, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
The room was quieter now, as they took each other in. Sheets twisted around their legs, rumpled and half hanging off the side of the bed. The broken lamp sat dark on the nightstand, useless, leaving the lavender-scented candle El had lit when they first got home and setting sun as the only glow in the room. Mike would consider himself a pretty decent writer, but he had no words to describe how beautiful El looked in this light. She looked dreamlike, she looked like a secret just for him, and he felt like he could say anything to her in this moment. Every deep dark thought he kept to himself, it could be hers now too.
“I don’t care about anyone else, though.” Mike’s expression shifted, so open and honest that he suddenly looked very young again. The same Mike she loved, the same Mike she left.
“My book was a New York Times bestseller for months and although that accomplishment was nice, I guess, it felt… empty.” He said the words like he was letting out a long drawn breath, “All I could think about was how badly I wanted you to read it.”
She stared up at him intently, nodding slowly. Like she felt every word, like they pained her too.
“I only want to be the best… for you.”
He found himself cringing the second the words left his mouth, aware of how he must have sounded, like an obedient dog that gained the ability to speak. The thought made his face heat up. But El only reached up and tucked a curl behind his ear, letting her thumb linger on his cheek.
“You are.” She said and then she grinned devilishly, “In more ways than one.”
He tried to ignore the bliss that washed over him at her validation, masking it with a scandalized gasp.
“El Hopper! When did you get so crude?”
She laughed. She brought her hand to his chest, drawing shapes with her finger tip, “I did read it. It made me sad.”
“I know, you said.”
“But it was the best book I ever read.” She pressed her palm against his chest and lifted herself slightly, just enough to make him look at her.“And I’m not just… saying that. I have read a lot of books since I left you all.” She said, subtly boasting, wanting the smartest boy she knew to know she was smart, too.
“Yours was still my favourite. I like… the way you say things. I always have.”
“Mhm, don’t say that. You’ll get me hard again.”
El laughed, something she couldn’t seem to stop doing.
Mike pressed a kiss to her hair before asking, “You really mean it, though? Like, even when I was a bumbling idiot?” The question came out more vulnerable than he had intended.
She slipped out from under his arm and pushed herself upright, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Especially when you were a bumbling idiot.”
She shuffled forward, swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I’d offer to make us food, but I don’t think my legs work. You’re going to have to carry me into the kitchen and make the sandwiches,” she said, lifting her arms in exaggerated surrender.
Says the girl with telekinesis, he thought, watching her—watching the way she waited, utterly certain he’d come to her.
“There’s nothing else I’d rather do right now, El,” he said instead.
He slid his arms beneath her, feeling her instinctively curl into him, lifting her with an unfamiliar ease. She looped her arms around his neck, finding comfort in the steadiness of his hold. He’d grown, too. And although she loved this version of him, sturdy and certain, a part of her would always miss when they were younger, when he was all nervous limbs and quiet determination, trying so hard to be strong for her.
She observed from the counter as he moved through her kitchen, opening cabinets without hesitation and pausing only when he wasn’t sure where she kept something. He would know for certain soon enough. He fit so perfectly in her little kitchen, in her little home, like he belonged.
She had spent ages curating her own space, tailoring it perfectly to her desires. The antique dishes with baby kittens she’d found at the local thrift store with Ada sat neatly in the cabinets. Fresh purple, yellow and blue wildflowers she’d picked herself rested in vases around the house. One corner had quietly become her art studio, paints and brushes scattered messily beneath the easel. A bookshelf and VHS boxes filled with any recommendation she recalled ever leaving the party’s mouths. A set of mugs, one with a black cat and the other with a white one, clearly meant for a couple. She watched as he grabbed both, pouring orange juice into each.
There had only ever been one thing missing.
And here he was.