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Growing up in Hawkins, everyone knew everyone. It was a small town, where every time you step outside of your house, you run into someone you know. It was something that was natural to Mike Wheeler, a truth he grew up with and never questioned, never knew a life otherwise. Ninety-nine percent of his graduating class was full of people he went to kindergarten with. Familiar faces all around in a town he was born in, much like most of everyone else.
In Iceland, that is not the case.
Mike is a stranger here, an outsider—and that has never bothered him before. He has often felt like one in the very town he spent most of his life in. Still, though, despite being an unfamiliar face, people meet his gaze with friendly smiles and polite waves, and Mike finds himself wondering if it’s because the people here are just naturally nice, or if it’s because they know of his relationship to the woman they all have come to call their own.
El is a darling in this town. She is the woman who always wears a smile for every customer that walks into the cafe she works in, and is the favorite of every baby she cares for on the days she picks up a shift at the daycare. Here, in this town of barely a thousand people, El is Eleanor and she is loved and cared for, never hunted, never scorned, never used. Here, she can step outside without a care, no more looking over her shoulder, and live a life without the fear of being taken and stolen.
And Mike is so grateful for it. So unbelievably thankful that she has found a place of her own to call home and, what’s more, that she and everyone else here has welcomed him without batting an eye. It has only been a little over a month, but Mike finds himself settling in easily because this is a life with El and it’s everything he has been dreaming of for so long.
Maybe it should scare him, how easy it was for him to drop his life back in America, to say goodbye to friends and family and pack up and go to her. As much as he misses everyone, he won’t lie to anyone—being with El outweighs everything else. He can write from wherever he wants, according to his editor and publisher, but only one place has El. That’s where Mike’s home is, where it’s always been, and that’s where he will stay.
Her apartment has become theirs, the two of them splitting the rent and everything else, even if El had protested at first. But Mike has more money than he knows what to do with, and helping with normal household finances is the least Mike could do. This is a new chapter for them, a new life; Mike intends to go through it with her, side by side.
A thud pulls Mike out of his sleep, the sound of something dropping to the floor making him stir, followed by El’s soft voice muttering, “Crap.”
A sleepy smile tugs at Mike’s lips, face half buried in his pillow. It endears him to hear her curse; she doesn’t do it often, but when she does, it gets a smile out of Mike every time. He mumbles something incoherent, shifting so he’s on his side and not his stomach, sleep-heavy eyes slowly blinking open to catch sight of El standing by the bed.
She’s in jeans and a pretty yellow sweater, her long hair tied back in a loose braid with a few tendrils framing her face. His smile grows when El freezes where she stands, knees bent like she’s about to crouch to pick up her bag on the floor, blinking those big brown eyes at him. “Sorry,” she whispers, lips turning up in an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“’S okay,” he murmurs, moving to sit up slightly. His gaze washes over her, admiring the earrings twinkling in her ears even in the subtle darkness of the room, and the ring on her left index finger. “Off to work?”
El nods, walking over to him. His eyes never leave her, struck by the sight of her in the early morning light bleeding through the gap of the blackout curtains. She wears makeup now; a light dusting of blush to pinken her cheeks, mascara to elongate her eyelashes, and gloss that makes her lips more kissable than usual. Beautiful, as always, and making his heart race all the time.
She sits down on the edge, back to the bed but facing Mike as a soft smile touches her lips. Reaching a hand out, El pushes some curls off his forehead and Mike’s head tips back, resting against the headboard, melting under the gentle touch. “You’re coming by later, right?”
Mike nods, his hand resting on her thigh. It’s become a part of their routine now; most days, when El’s working, he will come by the cafe and spend a few hours there with his brand new laptop, typing away to write the next chapters of his book while she serves customers. The two of them can’t seem to spend too much time apart, not after years of being separated, and no one else really questions how attached they are to each other. On the days El works at the daycare, Mike stays in the apartment, writing or cleaning up and preparing dinner for when she comes home.
Their lives, in the last month or so, have found a rhythm in this new routine. It’s peaceful in the way they both have craved for years, in a way that Mike knew El, at times, was convinced she would never have. And as real as it is now, sometimes Mike still fears he will wake up and this will all be a dream. That he would be back in America, waking alone in his bed without El in his arms, and he would be back to being the grieving, heartbroken wreck he had been for the last couple of years. His life back in Hawkins, in Chicago, stopped being much of anything after losing El. He had nothing left for him back there, and although Mike knows that’s not fair to say with his family and friends still there, it’s still his truth. And he’s pretty sure they all know that, too.
“I have a call with Rebecca at ten,” he reminds El. He’s due for a meeting with his editor about the next few chapters he has due, and the time works perfectly since Rebecca is in London and they’re in the same timezone. “So I should be at the cafe by eleven-ish, depending on how the meeting goes.”
“I’m sure it will be great,” El says with the finality of someone who can see the future. “There’s coffee in the pot,” she adds, leaning towards him with a smile. “I’ll see you later.”
Mike pushes forward, meeting her halfway and finding her smiling lips with his. His morning doesn’t start until this moment, until she kisses him and every single part of him wakes with the thrill of being with her. The slight tackiness of her lipgloss sticks to his lips and he loves it as his hand cups her cheek, keeping her close, her own fingers in his hair as Mike slips his tongue along the seam of her lips. El parts them eagerly, letting him deepen the kiss, and a fire begins to brim low in his belly as her tongue slides with his.
He presses into her, heart pounding, even as El laughs breathily against his lips. “Mike, I—I have to go,” she says reluctantly.
Mike hums, dragging his teeth along her bottom lip, skin buzzing with electricity when El lets out a quiet whimper in response, her fingers in his hair at the back of his head tightening. “I know,” he returns, lips brushing along hers. “Just—one more.”
He seals the promise with a hard, meaningful press of his lips to hers, one that makes his lungs burn and heart sing. Every cell in his body is aware of El; the softness of her lips and the minty taste of the toothpaste and the floral scent of her perfume washing over him. It’s the perfect start to his morning, one that livens him up to face the rest of the day.
“Okay, okay—” El giggles between kisses, moving backwards. Mike, of course, greedily chases her lips, eyes fluttering open when he can’t find them. El is grinning at him, cheeks flushed and lipgloss gone from her lips—and he can feel it on his own. “I have to get going.” Her hand slips from his hair, cupping his cheek as she strokes her thumb along the cheekbone. Her lips are kiss swollen, but her eyes are warm, soft, making his heart clench. “I will see you later.”
Mike nods, licking his lips and tasting the strawberry flavor of her gloss. “Yes, you will.”
She grins, showing off the dimple in her right cheek before getting up from the bed. Mike, however, is quick to follow her out of the room, into the living room and kitchen space, towards the small foyer as she grabs her jacket off the stand by the door. Mike grabs her tote bag while she slips the jacket on, and once he hands her the bag back, he steps towards her and gently untucks her hair from her jacket collar, her eyes on him the whole time.
“See you soon,” Mike promises, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you.” Her smile is radiant when they pull apart, reaching behind her to unlock and open the front door. “Bye-bye.”
A soft laugh escapes him, holding the door open for her as she steps out into the hallway. “Bye-bye.”
Mike braces his hands on the doorframe, leaning out to watch her walk down the hall, throwing one last smile at him over her shoulder before she disappears around the corner to go down the stairs. There’s a subtle pressure that tightens his chest when El is no longer in view, a sensation that comes by any time they aren’t in the same room. He has a feeling that won’t go away any time soon. It will take a while until his brain truly, fully accepts that this is his new life, and that El is here to stay. No more running, no more disappearing, no more grieving—save for the time they lost. But no more.
With El off to work, Mike proceeds with the rest of his morning. He pours himself a cup of coffee as the town beyond the windows comes to life, opening the fridge to pull out some eggs to make himself breakfast. He’s in the middle of making an omelet when a knock sounds on the front door, catching his attention. Eyebrows furrowing, Mike makes sure the stove is on the lowest setting before making his way towards the door, wondering who it could be.
When he opens the door, his expression falls flat, despite his attempt in trying to force a polite smile. Mike recognizes the guy on the other side of the door—Isak, their neighbor from down the hall. He’s around Mike’s age, from what he can tell, not as tall as him but with blonde hair and green eyes. El had introduced them on Mike’s third day in town, telling him Isak had been nice enough to help her put together her bookshelf in the living room. A friend, El had told Mike, which he believes.
But maybe Isak didn’t get the message, from the way Mike can see his expression drop when it’s Mike who opens the door and not El. “Góðan daginn,” Mike greets. El is far better at Icelandic than Mike, but he knows basic phrases and is learning more and more every day. He’s lucky, though, that many people in town also speak English.
“Góðan daginn,” Isak repeats, lips pursing together in a sorry excuse of a smile. His eyes flick past Mike, like he’s trying to look inside the apartment, but Mike is taller and his hand grips the edge of the door, effectively obstructing Isak’s view. “Has Eleanor left for work already?”
“Yeah, she has,” Mike answers, just a little tightly. He has seen Isak around El before, has seen the way the blonde looks at his girlfriend. It makes jealousy rear its ugly head, but Mike keeps it shoved inside. He doesn’t want anything to disrupt the peace of this life they are making their way through, doesn’t want to fuck it up and say or do the wrong thing that could ruin things, stir up unwanted feelings—not when they have finally found the peace they have fought so hard for. “Did you need her for something?”
Isak isn’t stupid. Mike sees the way the other man registers his tone, the edge that creeps into it. Isak just lifts his chin and says, “I wanted to invite her—you both—to my birthday celebration at Skál tonight. I would love it if you came.”
Mike doesn’t miss the way Isak corrects himself, tacking on Mike’s invitation like an afterthought. The bar, Skál, is the only one in this town, a local dive that El has taken him to. She’s not much of a drinker, but she will nurse a beer or a wine as the two of them sit in one of the corner booths, sharing the same side and a plate of fries or some other bar snack as they lose themselves in their own little world.
So, yes. Mike likes that bar—he’s not sure if he wants to go to celebrate Isak’s birthday.
“I’ll let her know,” he says instead, the smile he wears feeling tight and wrong on his face.
Isak nods, his own smile less than friendly. It’s a game of sizing each other up, but this is not a game Mike is interested in, nor does he need to compete in. Logically, Mike knows there is no competition for El’s love and attention. Emotionally, though, after years of separation and trauma, it’s a truth that sometimes still takes time to fully settle in.
“Thanks,” Isak says before he tilts his chin up and arches an eyebrow. “You and Eleanor—you have been together long?”
Mike presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. It doesn’t take a genius to understand why Isak is asking. “Since we were twelve,” Mike answers and it’s the truth, in some way. It’s only ever been El for him, no matter the years that have been spent alone. Even if she was gone, or dead, it would only be her. The mere thought of Mike moving onto someone else is laughable and wrong.
Isak’s eyebrows shoot up, Mike’s answer clearly surprising him. “Wow,” he says slowly. “That’s funny. Eleanor never mentioned you, not until you arrived here.”
Mike doesn’t take the bait. He knows El didn’t talk about him—not to Isak, at least. But she did mention him to her boss, Johánna, as well as to Emil, who happens to be the middle aged owner and bartender of Skál. Those are the two people El is closest to, two people who looked after her because they saw a young, lost girl and helped her, no questions asked. And so she had told them, after she learned she could trust them, about the boy she had left behind, the boy she loves.
So, no. Mike doesn’t care if El never spoke about him to this Isak guy. She mentioned him to the two people she trusts the most here in Iceland, and that’s what matters. That’s what speaks volumes.
“That’s okay,” Mike replies coolly, despite his irritation burning under his skin. “She had her reasons.” Isak purses his lips and Mike offers another smile he doesn’t quite mean. “Anyways, I’ve got breakfast on the stove. Thanks for the invite.”
He doesn’t let Isak get another word in, shutting the door and locking it in his face. Mike rolls his eyes as he heads back to the kitchen, making sure his omelet isn’t burnt as he plates it. He tries not to let the encounter with Isak leave a bad taste in his mouth, telling himself he’s overreacting and being overdramatic as he sits on the stool at the counter that separates the kitchen and living room and eats.
It is no surprise to Mike, whatsoever, that El has guys looking at her, admiring her, wanting to be with her. Isak isn’t the first Mike has seen who looks at El a certain way—looks at El the way Mike looks at her—and Mike is sure Isak won’t be the last, either. He reminds himself, though, that while other guys may look at El the way Mike does, she only returns the look to him. The truth of that settles the jealousy that had been brewing in his stomach. For now, at least.
It doesn’t last long.
Mike sits at the corner table in the cafe that has become his, back to the wall and giving him a full view of the entire place—though, he only ever really looks at El behind the counter towards the right. Music plays through the cafe’s speakers, songs he recognizes along with those in a language he’s only just beginning to learn, and not for the first time, Mike is distracted by the friendly smile El greets every customer with. He can easily pick up her soft spoken voice over the music and murmurs of the other patrons, watching as she moves freely and with practiced ease behind the counter, making different drinks and packing various pastries for the orders. Her coworker, Kristín, is out on break and once she returns, El will join Mike at his table.
As the customer at the counter leaves, El’s gaze meets Mike’s through the space between them, and his heart trips over itself at her soft smile. She braces her hands on the counter top, shoulders hiking up to her ears as she smiles over at him, looking like she is physically stopping herself from coming over. His own smile is ever present, looking over at her from behind glasses she likes to compliment him on, as the world narrows until it’s just the two of them, as always.
Even now, after all these years, he will never get tired of the feeling he gets in his chest, his stomach, every time El looks at him. It’s somehow both thrilling and calming at the same time; an excitement of getting to spend this life with her, and the relief of simply existing by her side.
The bell above the door chimes, signaling a new customer, who arrives while exclaiming, “Lovely to see you, Miss Eleanor!”
Mike recognizes the voice, his gaze slipping to the tall, dark haired man approaching the counter. Viktor, Mike recalls—one of the cafe’s regulars. He’s a couple of years older than them, a little closer to thirty, but the guy comes in almost daily with a too bright smile on his face always directed towards El. She tells Mike that Viktor is just a friendly guy who smiles at everyone, but Mike knows better. He has seen the way Viktor smiles at Kristín versus the way he smiles at El; the smiles towards El’s coworker are soaked in politeness, a warmth one would give to a good friend. His smiles towards El, however, are a little sharper, an underlying intention hidden beneath the way he eyes El. Like Isak.
“Hello, Viktor,” El returns kindly, pushing away from the counter as she fixes her apron. “The usual?” she asks, already moving towards the machines to make Viktor’s drink.
The man presses a hand to his chest. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.”
Mike’s eyes narrow instantly, jaw clenching as he feels the warmth from El transform into something fiercer, an irritating heat that burns with the need to scratch. His fingers freeze over the keyboard before curling into his palms, blunt nails biting into his skin. He can no longer hear whatever conversation is happening between El and Viktor—but Mike knows that no matter Viktor’s attempts at flirting, it’s only ever friendly and polite on El’s end.
Logically, he knows. But there’s little room for logic when jealousy likes to crop up like unwanted weeds.
For years, he and El have been separated. She had plenty of opportunity to find someone else—but she didn’t, just like he hadn’t, either. Their loyalty to one another is as sure as their love, and Mike knows this to be true. He also knows that El is beautiful, beyond comprehension, and so she will have eyes on her, admirers both bold and those who choose to appraise her from afar. Really, he doesn’t blame others for appreciating her—but she is his as much as he is hers, and sometimes he wants to remind everyone of that.
“You have nothing to worry about.” A familiar woman’s voice, accent thick, interrupts Mike’s thoughts. He startles a little in his chair as Johánna takes the seat to his right. El’s boss is in her early forties with sleek blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, eyes that he can’t tell if they’re green or blue sharp. She always smells like coffee—unsurprisingly—and cigarettes, which El always says reminds her of Hopper.
“Sorry—what?” Mike asks, clearing his throat as he awkwardly sits up.
Johánna sits back comfortably, one leg crossed over her other knee as she shoots him a knowing half smile. Her voice is quiet enough just for Mike to hear. “Eleanor has plenty of men panting after her like dogs.” She rolls her eyes, but Mike knows it’s more towards the men in question rather than El. During the short amount of time he has been here, he can already tell how much Johánna respects and cares for El, and it has brought him relief, knowing El had someone like Johánna looking after her. “But she never looked twice at any of them. Always made me wonder why.” She arches an eyebrow at Mike, chin dipping. “Now I know.”
Her observation is simple, but the weight of it lands, pushing the air out of Mike’s lungs from the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Now I know—like simply seeing Mike, seeing him with El, is enough to make it clear to Johánna why El hasn’t given any other guy the time of day since she has been here. He won’t lie—it’s a puff to his ego, a primal sort of satisfaction coursing through him, and it eases some of the jealousy that pricks at his skin.
“That’s, uh—” Mike clears his throat, lips twitching up into a smile as he nods. “That’s good to know,” he finishes lamely.
Johánna snorts out a laugh before looking towards the door as it opens and Kristín walks in. “Eleanor!” Johánna calls, getting to her feet. “Time for your break, elskan.”
El nods as she hands the customer—when did Viktor leave?—her change. “Have a good day,” she says, but as Mike watches her, he can tell she’s already distracted.
She moves away from the counter, grabbing the soda can she pulled out for herself earlier and the container of pasta she brought from home that had been in the microwave behind the counter. While Johánna disappears to the back and Kristín takes over the counter, El slides into the seat Johánna had been sitting in with a smile.
“Hi,” she greets sweetly, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips that lasts too short of a second. “I missed you.”
Mike’s heart swells, body instinctively turning to face hers. “You’ve seen me all day,” he points out, though the sentiment is mutual.
El raises her eyebrows as she takes the container lid off, lips forming a pout he wants to kiss right off. “It’s not the same.” He chuckles softly as she nudges the container towards him. “Do you want some?”
“Are you kidding?” Mike huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “You already gave me a croissant, two pastries, and two cups of coffee—and only let me pay for half of it. I’m set until dinner.”
She chuckles before picking up the fork and eating. Mike leans back in his chair, watching her with arms crossed, admiring the light reflecting off her earrings and necklace, the ring he gifted her years ago still on her finger. “Speaking of dinner,” El starts, wiping at her mouth with a napkin as she faces him. “What do you want to eat tonight?”
“Oh, uh—” He remembers, in that moment, the visit from Isak after she had left. Part of Mike wants to keep his mouth shut, but he knows if he kept it from El and she found out later, she would be upset with him and that’s the last thing he wants. “Actually, Isak stopped by, after you left. He invited us to Skál tonight for his birthday.”
“Oh,” El says thoughtfully, reaching for her soda. As she pops it open, she asks, “Do you want to go?”
Mike blinks, not quite expecting that. “He’s your friend,” he answers. “If you want to go, we should go.”
She hums, leaning back in her chair, facing him a little. “We can go for a little while. Just a drink? I’ll give him his gift and we can go. I don’t want to stay too long.”
Curiosity piques Mike’s interest. “What’d you get him?”
El shrugs, leaning forward to take another bite of food. “A sweater. In that ugly orange color he likes so much.” A laugh escapes Mike at the way El’s nose scrunches up in distaste. “We can pick up fish and chips on our way home from Skál for dinner.”
Mike smiles softly. “Sounds like a plan to me.” El returns the smile, twirling the pasta around her fork, and Mike nods his chin towards it. “Can I have a bite?”
She grins into a laugh. “I was wondering when you would ask,” she says, already lifting the fork and bringing it towards him, her other hand resting beneath just in case any pasta fell. Mike closes his own smiling lips around the fork, eyes locked with hers, and El’s gaze is warm and her voice is a gentle murmur as she says, “Silly.”
He swallows before saying, “You love me.”
El’s laugh is a little breathless as she pulls the fork away, but then her other hand comes up, gently grasping his chin, and Mike’s throat works as she uses the pad of her thumb to wipe at the corner of his mouth. She uses her finger to tap his nose, and he slides a little more in love with her. “No question about it.”
Mike has been to Skál only twice before, with El, and this is the busiest he has seen the bar. It’s not packed wall to wall, but there is a good amount of people, enough where their chatter drowns out the music, mixing with the sounds of glasses clinking together. There is one lone pool table in the back corner that is never vacant, the plunking sounds of the pool balls hitting one another faint over the noise.
El had told him she would meet him by the bar after giving Isak his present, but Mike’s gaze remains fixed on them as he waits. He leans back against the bar, a beer bottle in each hand, watching as a few feet away, Isak hugs El with a wide smile. Her own is warm and friendly, returning the hug—unremarkable from her end, but Mike’s eyes narrow at Isak’s hand resting a little too low on her back, Mike’s own grip on the beers tightening.
Relax, he tells himself—and the green eyed monster that stirs awake in his chest—while taking a long sip of his drink, eyes never leaving the two as El offers Isak the gift bag. The blonde lifts the sweater out a bit, eyes lighting up in delight as he throws his head back in a laugh, and El’s smile is proud and beautiful, clearly pleased that she got her friend a gift he would like. The chill in Mike’s heart thaws at the sight of her smile, the dimple in her cheek, the corner of his own mouth lifting and forcing himself to let out a breath to calm down.
But then Isak places his hands on either side of El’s head and gives her a smacking kiss on each cheek in thanks, and while El is laughing, Mike’s jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth. He wonders if he’s always been like this, and thinks back to summer of ’85, when El was hanging out with Max after dumping him. He thinks of the annoyance and jealousy that had plagued him then, though when he thinks about it now, he determines his teenage self was a little misguided and was simply suffering the consequences of his own actions, which he had owned up to amidst their escape from the Mind Flayer.
Now, this jealousy, although a little familiar, feels new. Sharper, necessary to keep an eye on. Mike knows El loves him, knows that she never looks at anyone else the way she looks at him, but the irrational part of him wants other people to get that message, too. El deserves all of the love, the smiles, the friendships, in the world. God knows she’s been through too fucking much to receive anything less than that. All Mike wants is for her to be happy, but perhaps, selfishly, he gets a little too worried about her finding that happiness without him.
He straightens a little when El breaks away from Isak, making her way over to Mike. The smile that touches his lips is instant the moment their eyes meet, though he does notice Isak looking after El as she walks away from him, a longing in his eyes that makes Mike almost feel sorry for the guy. Almost.
“Hi,” he greets once she stops in front of him, holding out one of the bottles.
“Hi,” El returns sweetly, her fingers brushing against his as she takes her drink, the subtle point of contact sending a current from his fingertips down to his toes. “Isak liked our present.”
Mike arches an eyebrow, his free arm sliding around her waist to pull her close as he remains leaned back against the bar. El stands in the space between his long legs, peering up at him as Mike asks, “Our present?”
El nods, her fingers innocently hooking through the front belt loops of his pants. Over her head, Mike sees Isak look away, but he pays him no mind, eyes fixed on El. “I told him it was from both of us. Especially since he invited you tonight, too.”
Mike snorts out a laugh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Trust me, El. I was just an afterthought. He only invited me to make sure you’d come.” He finishes his statement with another sip of his beer, looking away for a moment, but his gaze is dragged back when he feels El’s eyes on him. There’s a smile dancing on the edge of her mouth, and he’s only a tiny bit defensive as he asks, “What?”
El tilts her head, earrings gleaming against the low lights of the bar. “Mike.” He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth at the way she says his name. “Are you jealous?”
Mike presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, gaze dipped to admire El’s lightly amused expression. “Would you think less of me if I said that I am?”
“No,” El answers immediately, the word a gentle burst of laughter. She moves closer, fingers tightening on his belt loops, and his stomach dips as her front presses against his, the heat of her body seeping into his. “It’s adorable.”
His eyebrows fly up. “Adorable?”
“Mhm,” El hums as she takes a sip of her own beer before licking her lips, effortlessly drawing Mike’s gaze to her mouth. She presses her lips together to keep her smile from widening, but he sees the mirth dancing in her pretty brown eyes. “It’s adorable that you think there’s any sort of competition.”
“I know there’s not,” Mike says automatically, cheeks warming at the way her eyebrows rise. This close, he can smell her perfume, and Mike is likely to get more intoxicated off of her scent than the beer in his hand. “I just. . .”
“You just. . ?”
“I’m selfish, El,” Mike blurts, his thumb rubbing circles at the small of her back. “I don’t like other guys looking at you the way I look at you.”
El’s expression softens, a look crossing over her eyes that tightens his throat. He’s relieved that she’s not put off by his selfish, possibly possessive, attitude. “I know,” she says with a light nod. “But I don’t think they look at me the way you look at me.” When Mike opens his mouth to argue, El’s hand leaves his belt loops, a finger pressing to his lips, effectively shutting him up. His lips tingle with her touch, eyes locking with hers. “They can’t—because they don’t know me like you do. And they never will. Right?”
Her finger slips away from his lips, but she drags it along the line of his jaw, lips quirking up in a smile as a breath shudders out of Mike. The simplest touches from El seem to wake up every single part of him, eager and greedy for more, and his skin tightens with the need to be closer to her—far closer than is decent while they’re in public.
“Right,” Mike remembers to answer through the haze in his brain, completely mesmerized by her coy smile and the way it makes her eyes glimmer with intention that he can feel in every nerve.
El hums approvingly. “I’m glad you agree,” she says. “I think we should go now.”
“Already?” For fuck’s sake, Mike. You didn’t even want to come in the first place, remember?
She takes one last sip of her beer before reaching past him to put the bottle on the bar top. El arches an eyebrow. “Unless you want to stay?”
He doesn’t open his mouth again, just in case he says something stupid again, and instead puts his bottle down as well, grabs her hands, and leads a grinning El out of the bar.
They walk down the street, the sun still up despite it being a little after eight in the evening. It’s been an adjustment for Mike, and the blackout curtains El has certainly help, but the sun not setting until well after nine-thirty at night since he arrived is a culture shock of its own. Though, not one he hasn’t embraced, much like everything else in Iceland, because this place is El’s home, which means it’s Mike’s home, and he loves it here for that reason alone.
As promised earlier, they stop by one of El’s favorite restaurants, a small corner joint, to pick up two orders of fish and chips for dinner, even if Mike hungers for something else as he hands over the money to the guy, Gunnar, behind the counter.
His gaze, of course, is on El as he puts the money in the register. With a grin, he says to her, “Þetta er falleg kjóll, El.”
Mike arches a subtle brow, the words lost to him, and glances at El. She blinks and gives Gunnar a polite, almost bland smile. “Takk. Mike valdi það.”
His curiosity intensifies when he hears his name, especially when Gunnar’s smile tightens a bit at the edges as his gaze flicks to Mike. “Your order will be ready in five minutes,” Gunnar says, his thick accent doing little to hide the edge in his voice.
As Mike and El step off to the side to let the people behind them order, he crosses his arms and leans towards her as she stands next to him. “What was that?”
“He complimented my dress,” El says with a shrug. When Mike’s lips twist to the side, she smiles a little smugly, even if she looks up at him innocently. “I told him you picked it out.”
Which isn’t a lie—he did express he liked that dress when she showed it to him as an option for tonight. Knew there would be eyes on her if she wore it but she looked too good in it to tell her otherwise.
Inhaling sharply, one of his hands easily grasps the open halves of her light jacket, tugging her close. Mike dips his head, reveling in her floral perfume, the mirth in her eyes, as he mutters, “Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”
Her grin kills him, her dimple popping as her gaze flicks over him. “I think I like jealous Mike.”
“You like torturing me, you mean,” Mike corrects, eliciting a laugh from El.
“You know me well,” she says, not even bothering to deny it. Mike huffs out a laugh just as their order number is called, and El beats him in collecting their bag of food, her free hand slipping into his as she drags him out the store.
The walk back to the apartment is quick, every step filled with intention as anticipation burns through Mike’s veins, hands interlaced and happily bumping into each other as they go. When they get up to the second floor of the building, El stands in front of him, pulling her keys out of her purse, and he’s practically vibrating behind her, chest pressing to her back and hands gripping at her hips.
“Hungry?” El asks with a knowing laugh, the keychain jingling as she unlocks the door.
Mike ducks his head, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he murmurs, “Something like that.”
He hears the breath that escapes her sharply, the door finally opening as the two of them stumble inside. El turns around and walks backwards, eyes on Mike as he reaches behind him to shut the door, gaze never leaving hers as he locks it. El’s smile grows, teeth dragging along her bottom lip as she keeps walking backwards, placing their bag of food on the counter without taking her eyes off Mike as they both haphazardly toe their shoes off.
The air between them stirs, electric and heated, as El stops where she stands while Mike nears. His blood pumps at the look she gives him, expectant and eager, and the breath stutters in Mike’s lungs when El pulls off her jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Her dress is pale blue with white flowers all around, the neckline and thick straps on the shoulders showing off skin he needs to get his lips on; along her collarbones, that spot where her neck and shoulder meet that he knows makes her gasp, then lower and lower still.
“Mike.”
Her voice snaps him out of his reverie. “Yeah?” His voice is hoarse, throat dry.
A soft breath escapes El in fond exasperation. “Kiss me already.”
God, fuck, yes.
He closes the gap without another word, hands finding El’s cheeks the moment he’s near enough and pulling her in for a searing kiss that makes his head spin. El stumbles back with the force of it and one of Mike’s arms instantly slips around her waist, holding her close as he feels her hands fist the front of his shirt. His heart pounds erratically as El immediately parts her lips for him, allowing Mike to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against hers and groaning at the familiar taste of her.
The moment they meet, the tension snaps and El pulls him along. He knows the layout of the apartment well enough to know, immediately, that she’s pulling him towards the bedroom as his hand slips from her cheek to the back of her head, long fingers tangling in the strands of her thick hair.
He’s on fire, surely, as they reach the room, his own jacket gone along the way as his fingers brush along the zipper at the back of her dress. “Take it off,” El says into the kiss, her plea electrifying his blood.
Mike is quick to oblige, pulling down the zipper before his fingers slip under the straps of the dress and push it down her shoulders. El presses closer, kissing him soundly, and he can feel her dress dropping from her frame and pooling at her feet. They only pull apart to breathe, forehead pressed together as Mike tries to catch his breath—an impossible feat when he opens his eyes and dips his gaze, and whatever air that was in his lungs rushes out at the sight before him.
El stands in just her underwear, a matching set of white lace with pink bows, and he could see her like this a million times and she will knock him on his ass every fucking time. “Jesus—” His jaw clenches, breathless in his awe of her as his hands slip up her sides, skin burning against skin as El inhales sharply at the touch. “You’re beautiful.”
And mine. The thought crosses through his mind with a possessiveness he has only ever felt towards her, watching as El smiles, cheeks flushed as he feels her fingers grip the hem of his shirt. “So are you,” she murmurs against his lips before lifting his shirt.
Before her, Mike has never thought of himself as anything other than average looking, maybe even less than. He got relentlessly bullied when he was younger for his features, like they didn’t fit right on his face. His mom would always call him handsome, but she kind of has to, doesn’t she? And as much as Mike appreciated it, he never quite fully believed her.
And then there was El. Who met him at twelve and loved him then and loves him still. Who looks at him with nothing but love and reverence in those brown eyes he has seen in his dreams every night since they met. Who touches him like he is made to be worshipped, when it’s the other way around, in his opinion. El loves him openly in the way she looks at him, touches him, speaks to him—his jealousy from before seems ridiculous in the face of this, but the reminder is always welcomed. He’s greedy for it.
When he lifts off his shirt, dropping it somewhere behind him, Mike takes a breath when El’s hands find him, her touch familiar and warm as she starts at his chest, his heart thudding beneath her palm, before she slips it down. Releasing a rough breath, Mike tips her chin up and kisses her again, the taste of her on his tongue addictive as he feels her nimble fingers undoing his belt with expert precision, and he’s sure to do his own part as one hand slips behind her and he undoes the clasp of her bra with the ease of a man greedy for more.
With his pants off and kicked to the side, El wraps her arms around Mike’s neck, pressing close, and he groans into her mouth as he feels the hardened tips of her nipples against his chest as he winds his own arms around her waist to move them towards the bed. He walks her backwards, his knee digging into the mattress as he lowers El onto her back, the kiss never once breaking, never once giving into distance as El shuffles up on the bed as Mike settles between her legs.
Comfortable in their position, Mike lets his instincts and greed guide him, lips trailing down El’s jaw, feeling her tilt her head back with a contented sigh. He moves down her neck, lingering on that spot that has her hand flying to his hair and tightening as he nips and sucks, using teeth and tongue to leave a mark that will look so pretty come morning. Mike’s gaze lifts, eyes eagerly taking in every minute shift of her expression as he sucks kisses on the swell of her breast, feeling her breath stutter with a soft cry of his name when he gently, teasingly, sinks his teeth into the flesh.
“God,” El gasps, back arching and effectively pushing herself closer to Mike, and he grins as he moves lower, bottom lip catching against her perked nipple before closing his lips around it.
He sucks and El writhes against him, whimpering when he flicks his tongue across the bud, his other hand sliding up to cup her other breast, fitting into the palm of his hand like it was made for just this. His index finger and thumb tweak the other nipple, the sounds El makes music to his ears before he lets go with a pop, admiring the sheen of his saliva on her skin before he gives the same attention to her other breast.
The taste of her, the sounds, the heat that brews between them sends Mike’s blood rushing, hardening him inside his boxers as he begins his descent, kissing his way down the valley of her breasts, the flat of her stomach. He feels one of her hands slip into his hair as he reaches the band of her underwear, and apparently he isn’t moving fast enough because her fingers in his hair tighten and her hips lift a bit.
“Mike—” El’s voice is a needy rasp that hits him right in the stomach, especially when she whimpers when Mike noses at the damp spot on her underwear. “Please—”
“I know, baby, I know,” he reassures with the subtlest of smirks, curling his fingers under the band before pulling them down her legs, moving them to one side to take them off and tossing them with the rest of their clothes. “Jesus,” Mike breathes out as El spreads her legs, his throat drying as he lifts her right leg to drape it over his shoulder.
His gaze lifts, meeting El’s as she watches him in anticipation, chest moving up and down with her heavy breaths, and when El nods, Mike doesn’t waste a second. Greed and need push him forward, eyes fixed on her face to catalogue every minute shift of her expression as he licks a strip up her pussy, groaning at her taste and tightening his grip on her thigh when El cries out an unsteady, “Oh!”
His other arm wraps around her thigh from under, easily holding her open as he licks into her, already halfway to being drunk on her taste as El’s fingers remain in his hair, like she wants to keep him close. With his arm still around her thigh, his hand reaches forward and presses down on her hip, keeping her in place as he noses at her clit before wrapping his lips around it.
He sucks and El’s back arches off the mattress with a shout of his name and he groans in satisfaction when her fingers tighten in his hair, hard enough to hurt. She realizes this, he thinks, when she loosens her grip and gasps out, “Sorry—”
Mike hums and he feels her legs twitch as the sound vibrates through her. “Don’t be,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of her thigh. “I like it.”
A breathless laugh escapes El, which morphs into a moan when Mike returns his ministrations, too motivated by her desire fueling his own to stop for more than a second. He feels her need in his bones with every twitch of her legs, every sound she makes, every clench of his hair between her fingers. El is so responsive, taking everything he is giving her, lips parting in a pretty whimper when Mike pushes a finger inside to work in tandem with his mouth.
He lets El move her hips to meet his movements, her breathing sharp as she throws her head back and Mike’s eyes flutter, wanting to slip shut to lose himself in her taste but keeping them open to keep watching her. He curls his finger, flutters his tongue, crude sounds of him licking into her and El’s moans until—
“Mike!”
The cry of his name is accompanied by the lights flickering and Mike doesn’t stop as El falls apart, doesn’t pull away as he licks and eagerly takes what she gives him, legs shaking and fingers tightening. Her grip on him loosens as her muscles relax in the aftermath of her orgasm, her breaths gasping as Mike, heart pounding, pulls back and licks his lips, drunk off the taste of her. Jesus Christ.
She’s flushed and his boxers feel impossibly tight, the air electric as he admires the sight of her. Beautiful, with her pink skin and heaving chest, delicious on his tongue as she claws at him, bringing him back over her, and Mike just barely catches his weight on his arms on either side of her before El is pulling him down for a hard, deep kiss that is all tongue and teeth and fierce, hot desire that turns the blood in his veins into lava.
El licks into his mouth and moans as she tastes herself on his tongue, her hands cupping his face until one leaves and, over his thundering heart, Mike swears he hears the scrape of a drawer opening. As El bites his bottom lip, tugging it between her teeth, he opens his eyes to see her, with her powers, pulling out a condom from the box in the nightstand drawer. His lips pull back into a fiendish grin, her teeth still snagged on it, as the condom floats over and Mike snatches it from the air.
Mike pulls up, kneeling between her legs as he smirks down at her, despite his erratic pulse. Fuck, she makes him dizzy in the best way. “That’s my favorite trick of yours,” he says cheekily, swiftly shucking off his boxers before bringing the foil packet up to his mouth and tearing it open with his teeth.
El smiles breathlessly, watching him with an intense look that has his heart stuttering. “Convenient, isn’t it?” she muses, biting down on her grinning bottom lip, and he can’t help but chuckle adoringly at the gleam of pride in her eyes. It’s not the first time she has used her powers to help out, for a lack of a better term, in these kinds of moments, but it definitely comes in handy. Case in point.
El’s hands run over him, down his chest and stomach, slipping along his sides, his skin burning everywhere she touches and Mike pauses for a moment, lost in her admiration of him. In the way her eyes trace him the same way her hands do, her smile fading in her quiet appreciation as Mike’s throat works. The only light in the room filters in from the open door leading to the living room-kitchen space, street lights slipping through the gap in the curtains. But Mike sees all of El, in all her beauty, and not for the first time—and certainly not for the last—he is struck by how perfect she is, how lovely. His.
“Mike,” she whispers and it’s many things at once. A prompt, a plea, a prayer—all of which he answers willingly as he rolls the condom on, jaw clenching as El pushes herself up on her elbows enough to place a hand on the back of his neck and pull him back over her.
Foreheads touching, Mike’s throat works as El lays back down and he bears his weight on one arm, his other hand guiding himself until he notches the tip of his cock against her entrance. El’s head tilts with a gasp, parted lips brushing against his, noses bumping together, and he is sure their erratic hearts are pounding together as one as the tension builds and builds before it ultimately snaps when he slowly pushes himself inside of her.
Inch by inch, Mike’s mouth drops open as he rolls his hips forward, both arms braced against the mattress on either side of her head. They breathe the same air, El’s fingers back in his hair, her other snaking around him to sink her nails into his skin. “Fuck,” Mike grunts at the familiar heat of her around him, forehead against El’s but head tilting down enough to watch where they connect, reveling at the familiar sight of him disappearing inside of her.
“Mike, Mike—” El gasps, arching into him, his name pressing into his own lips from hers once he’s fully seated inside of her. His eyes squeeze shut for a couple of seconds, losing himself in this sensation, in this lovely, perfect closeness. Every sense is taken over by El; her perfume, the music of her voice, the heat of their proximity, the teasing but desperate brush of her lips against his. God, this is fucking heaven. He could die right here and it’d be the happiest he is—consumed by El, every single cell in his body humming happily in response to her existence. “Need you to—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mike nods, his voice a strained rasp. “I got you.”
He opens his eyes just to watch her. El’s eyes flutter close as Mike pulls out and when she whimpers at the loss, he feels a breathless, awed smile tug at the corners of his mouth before he pushes back in. He’s aware of every movement, every roll of his hips, every flex of El’s fingers in his hair and every welcome bite of her nails in his back, yet he’s still lost in her.
Reality will slap him in the face every now and then, ever since he got to Iceland and reunited with El. An always welcome reminder that this is now his life—what he has been wanting since the night he met her. Maybe not exactly, maybe not under these circumstances, maybe not because of all the pain they endured. But at the end of it all, all Mike ever wanted was to be with El. Leaving behind his life in Hawkins, in America, felt small in comparison if it meant he gets to be with her. He misses his friends, he misses his family, but it’s a universal truth that El is a combination of both—yet somehow higher, still.
She is woven so deeply inside of him, it’s impossible for Mike to exist and function without being by her side. He had thought, once in the deepest depths of his despair and agony, during the years she was gone, that this was codependency. Unhealthy, even. But declaring what he feels for El to be anything but love, anything but right, anything but the sole desire to have a life with the only person in the world who has ever seen every part of him and love him because of them instead of despite them would be wrong.
El is everything. Mike is certain he was put on this planet to love her, and he is determined to live his life fulfilling its purpose.
His low grunts, her needy whimpers, and the subtle creak of the bed create a cacophony he has heard many times before. Many times back in her room at Hopper’s cabin, when they were lucky enough to be alone, too eager to get their hands on each other and throwing caution to the wind in the privacy of her bedroom. And now again here—certainly during the first week of his arrival, when they stayed tangled in the bed, only getting out when it was absolutely necessary, like using the bathroom or getting food. They also found out, that week, that they quite like the simple, easy intimacy of sharing a shower.
Now, Mike looks down at her as he settles in a rhythm that makes both of them dizzy, his gaze sliding over her face, unable to look at anything but. “You’re so beautiful,” he rasps, lips brushing along the curve of her flushed cheek. “My pretty girl.” He emphasizes his words with an experimentally sharp thrust of his hips, reveling in the biting sensation of her nails digging into the skin of his back, the choked gasp that escapes her as her back arches enough to press her chest to his. Her perked nipples against his skin are dizzying, his fingers fisting the bedsheet while his other hand drags down the length of her body before gripping the flesh of her thigh, fingers sinking in to lift her leg until it’s hooked around his hip.
The new angle has El bucking into him, capturing his lips for another kiss, and the current sparks in his veins, heart beating like a drum as he picks up the pace, skin slapping against skin as they cling to each other, racing together towards that edge that is so close within their grasp.
“Mike, I’m—” El gasps into the kiss, which becomes just parted lips against parted lips, sharing the same breath, his own stuttering when he feels the delicious sting of her nails dragging down his back.
“Let go for me, baby,” Mike encourages, reveling in every drag of her walls around him before he feels her clench around him. Every grip she has on him tightens and Mike watches, transfixed, as El falls apart for the second time with his name on her lips, his movements not slowing down, not stopping, as he lets her ride her climax. The bliss on her face, the flush of her cheeks, squeezes his chest, tenses his own muscles as he chases that end for himself, even if he is already high off of El’s pleasure. The lights flicker once again, rapidly than before as her control slips, as she loses herself in the waves crashing through her body.
He expects her to fall back, to revel in the haze of her orgasm as she breathes heavily, eyes glazed, but then—as usual—El surprises him. Mike is almost positive that she uses just a little bit of her powers when she uses her leg around him to suddenly switch their position. A surprised grunt escapes Mike when he lands on his back, the air rushing out of his lungs as El straddles him, long hair falling down her front and her hands resting on his chest, no doubt feeling his pounding heart under her palm.
“El—”
She leans down, shushing him gently with a slow, dragging kiss to his lips that he leans into eagerly, his hands tightening on her hips, the heat of her body sinking into him as she murmurs, “Your turn.”
Fuck—her name is sharp on his tongue when she rolls her hips, leaning back so she is fully seated on him, and Mike is fucking entranced at the sight of this goddess on top of him. El watches him just the same, teeth dragging lightly along her full bottom lip, as she rides him, every move intensifying the current building at the base of his spine, the tightening of his muscles as she so easily brings him to that edge. He recognizes the look on her face, every look, and sees the hunger in her dark eyes—a hunger to get him where he got her, to find that finish, to find his own pleasure despite the fact that he already got a taste of it, twice, when she came in his mouth and on his cock.
She knows his body well: knows just how much pressure to apply with her nails dragging down his chest, knows exactly how to rotate her hips and clench around him that has him tightening his grip on her hips and losing his breath, knowing exactly how to smile at him that makes him fall a little more in love with her each time.
El knows Mike the way he knows her; perfectly and intimately and fully. Her movements combined with the charged air between them, with the way she looks at him, and with how she leans down, her hair brushing against his skin, to murmur into a kiss, “I’ve got you,” are the end of him.
She sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, clenches around him purposefully, and every thought eddies out of Mike’s head, replaced by a lightning strike that crashes through him with finality. His fingers grip her hips hard enough to bruise and El moans, delighted, into the kiss, but the sound is drowned out by the groan that pushes out of Mike as his vision whitens behind closed lids and his own release crashes through him like a fucking tsunami.
He can barely hear his heavy breaths over his thunderous heartbeat, skin blissfully overheated and limbs boneless as he feels El’s lips trail light kisses down his jaw, and Mike finds enough energy in his haze to drag his fingers along her spine, turning his head to catch her lips in a gentle kiss.
Every nerve ending is alive, every vein crackling with a current that swims through his blood as he and El slowly catch their breaths. In the quiet aftermath, they spend a couple of minutes losing themselves in the kiss before the need to get comfortable wins over. They’re quick in their practiced ease, cleaning up and getting rid of the condom before they meet under the covers once again, him on his back and her tucked into him where she belongs.
El traces nonsensical patterns on his chest as they lay together, boneless and spent as they slowly come down from the kind of high he has only ever felt with her. This is his favorite place to be: with El in his arms, limbs tangled and hearts finding a rhythm together. His skin buzzes everywhere her touch has been, and Mike knows he will never get enough of this, of her. Nothing in the world has ever felt as right as this.
His own fingers idly brush up and down her bare back, touching along the faint knobs of her spine, dipping low and hitching her breath before he comes back up with a faint, knowing smile on his lips. The taste of her lingers on his tongue, familiar and his, and Mike suddenly feels ridiculous, honestly, for the jealousy that has clung to him recently. In his heart, he knows that at the end of it all, it’s him and El, always. His jealousy doesn’t come from a place of doubt, he knows. Just. . .
“I’m sorry.” The words burst out of him before he can help it, disrupting the comfortable, intimate silence of their bedroom.
El’s finger stills in tracing patterns on his chest as she moves, lifting her head to look down at him. With a flick of her hand, she turns on the tall lamp in the corner of the room, illuminating it in a dim, muted glow, not harsh enough to hurt their eyes. Her long hair frames her face prettily, cheeks still a little flushed, and her eyebrows pull together in utter confusion as she asks, “What are you apologizing for?”
Mike’s throat works as he looks up at her, the ends of her hair brushing against his skin, lips kiss bitten and swollen. She’s pressed into his side, bearing her weight on her right arm, left leg in between his. They are so entangled with each other, he’s not sure where he starts and where she ends, and he’s not too keen on finding out.
“For being so. . .” Mike waves his hand around, trying to find the words. “Stupid, I guess. And jealous.”
“You’re not stupid,” El says instantly, eyebrows pulling together.
He gives her a half smile, fingers absently playing with her hair. “But I was jealous.”
“So?” she says with a shrug. “That’s normal, Mike. I don’t hold it against you. I get jealous, too.”
This surprises him, genuinely. Mike blinks, eyebrows furrowing together as he rears back—as much as he can with his head against the pillow—as he looks up at her in confusion. “You do?”
El nods and Mike knows, as his gaze tracks her features, that she’s not joking. “I see the way some girls look at you when you’re at the cafe, or whenever we’re out.”
Shock has him spluttering. “I—what? No one looks at me—”
“They do,” El insists, and this time she’s smiling like she’s endeared. “I hear them whispering about you.”
Mike blinks a couple of times, at a loss for words. She completely turned the conversation around, and he has no idea how to make sense of it. “I didn’t—I never noticed,” is all he can manage to say, but the words are honest.
“I know,” she says, her smile widening as her finger traces the line of his jaw. “Because you’re too busy looking at me.” She says it matter-of-factly, a truth etched so deeply into stone that it doesn’t embarrass him at all to be read by her so easily. “Just like I don’t notice any of the guys you’re jealous of, because I’m too busy looking at you.” Mike huffs out a laugh, feeling both silly and relieved, and El’s gaze softens. “It’s okay, Mike. It just—” She lifts a shoulder. “I think it just means we love each other. A lot.”
“That’s true,” he agrees without a shred of doubt, hand raising to tuck her hair behind her ear. He admires the sweep of her long eyelashes, the hint of her dimple, the warmth of her skin pressing against his. “I’m sorry.” His gaze averts in shame, almost. “I guess I just get lost in, like, the fear, I think, of you finding someone better.”
“Impossible.” El says it with such sharp vehemence that it hits Mike right in the chest. He feels her index finger and thumb grip his chin, forcing his gaze to meet hers once more and catching the subtle frown she wears. “There is no one else. There never has been, and there never will be.”
She speaks the words with the conviction of a woman who cannot be proven wrong, with the confidence of a woman who has faced death and come out the victor. She speaks like a woman deeply in love, looks at him with brown eyes that have never looked at him empty of warmth and affection. Mike has never doubted El’s love for him; even in the years of their separation, even when he was drowning in grief and depression and anger, he never doubted it. Even when he constantly asked himself why she would leave him, deep down Mike always knew the answer wasn’t because she didn’t love him—it was because she loved him more than she loved anything and anyone else, including herself.
It is a feeling that has always been mutual, because Mike would gladly, willingly, let the world burn if it meant El would be safe.
Mike’s throat works, cupping her cheek as she lets go of his chin so her own hand can rest lightly against his neck, her thumb drifting to his pulse point. “You know I feel the same way, right?” he asks, his voice a rasp as he earnestly searches her gaze.
El’s eyes soften, her smile quickening his pulse that he is sure she can feel under her touch. “I know, Mike.” He loves the way she says his name, like it’s something to be taken care of. Her hand drifts up, fingers gently brushing his dark hair away from his forehead. Her dimple deepens with her smile. “I love you.”
He takes a breath; God, he’ll never, ever get tired of hearing her say those words. He has heard them in nightmares and dreams, over breakfast and while doing dishes, in the quiet of their bedroom and the bustle of the town square. He will never get enough of them. “I love you,” he returns, slipping his hand to the back of her head and pulling her down, their lips meeting in a sweet, slow kiss that says more than words can.
It’s easy for him to let go of everything else, to just get swept up in El while feeling her losing herself in him, too. The world beyond their little bubble ceases to exist, just the way he prefers, and despite El’s reassurances, Mike feels silly for his jealousy as he reminds himself that just how he can’t picture a life without her, El’s perfect version of life includes him. They are one and the same; two halves of a single soul living in two bodies, their hearts beating for each other.
El deserves to be loved and admired by everyone in this town, but Mike knows that only he gets to know all of the tiny details that make her who she is. He is the only one who gets to see who she truly is, the person she doesn’t share with anyone, not even those back in Hawkins. He is her person, and she is his, and it’s a truth that Mike cherishes with a fierce devotion.
The whole world should love her, Mike knows, but he is the only one who loves her right, and she is the only one his love exists for. And that is exactly how it should be.