vie

finn is sprawled across the couch, his long legs tangled over the arm rest on one side, head resting on the opposite.

‘hey, how was your day?’ he calls, half lifting his head to smile at you

you grit your teeth, putting your bag down.

‘shit.’ you admit, your voice a little shaky. he shoots his head up, getting off the couch and striding towards you quickly, scouring your face.

he notices the frown, the downturn of your eyebrows, the slight wobble of your lips. the way your eyes are daring you to cry. you blink the tears back, and swallow.

‘m’fine, finn. you don’t need to look at me like that.’ you huff, but you try to stop the irritation from seeping into your voice. you know it’s not fair, to be annoyed at him.

he frowns, but he still brings a careful hand to the side of your face, brushing back some hair that had stuck on your cheek.

‘like what?’

‘like i’m on my death bed. just had one bad day, i’ll survive.’

‘you look like you’re about to cry.’ he murmurs, and you shrug.

‘so what? i’m not going to drown on my own tears, wolfhard.’

he smiles, a slow stretch across his mouth. you lean forward, gently pressing your lips to his. the familiarity is nice. he beams.

‘hello.’

‘hello.’ you reply. ‘can you- i want a cup of tea. but the thought of making one makes me actually want to cry. would you-‘

he nods, far too quickly. it makes you laugh, and you kiss him again, this time on the cheek.

‘thank you.’

‘do you- why don’t you sit down? i’ll bring it to you, yeah?’ he murmurs, beginning to turn away from you.

you pause, considering the offer, but shake your head. instead, you wrap your arms around the side of his waist.

‘i’ll just stay with you. watch.’ you decide, as he looks down at you with a careful grin.

‘okay, love.’

you scrunch your nose up at him. ‘you know i think those pet names are gross.’

‘i know. that’s why i use them.’

twenty minutes later, you’re leaning against him on the couch, your empty mug on the table beside it.

‘do you want to talk about it?’ he asks quietly, and you hum.

‘no, thank you. just want to be here with you.’ you decide, and he slings his arm over your shoulder, pulling you a little closer to him.

‘okay, we can make that happen.’

you close your eyes as he presses his lips to your forehead.

‘was that the forehead kiss of doom?’ you mumble, the words barely making it out of your mouth. he laughs.

‘obviously not. just easiest place to reach.’ he explains, doing it again. and then he kisses the side of your face, your cheek, your jaw. his hand settles there, turning your chin so you can face him.

then it’s your nose, your eyebrow, eyelid, the edge of your lips.

you can feel yourself turning a little red.

‘finn-‘

he raises an eyebrow. ‘yeah?’

you exhale.

‘thank you.’

still, you let your head drop into your hands, and will yourself not to cry out of frustration. you begin to chew the side of your lip, feeling the rip of dry skin, waiting to taste the blood. they probably look similar to your nails- chewed, mangled, desperate.

‘i thought you stopped doing that.’

you recognise his voice quicker than you thought you would. you feel your heart thrum in your chest.

mike wheeler stands, half awkward, half determined. he looks like he’s not totally sure where to put his arms, so he folds them and leans back. you look up slowly, carefully, as if he might not be there.

you don’t say anything. you just stare. blink.

that’s when he notices the textbook, sees the scrawls and scraps of paper, and he nods.

‘ah.’

‘ah.’ you copy, trying to swallow your uncertainty down.

he looks around nervously, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. then he hesitates, and gestures to the open seat in front of you.

‘can i- can i sit?’

you shrug, glaring around the room. there’s no space anywhere else- and that placates you a little. at least that’s why he’s asking.

‘sure. just don’t disturb me.’ you reply, a little too bitterly. he flinches.

about twenty five minutes later, he glances up at you, gently pushing his foot on top of yours.

‘i can help you, you know?’

you snap your gaze up.

‘i don’t need your help.’ you almost spit back, but he doesn’t recoil.

‘are you sure? i can still- we’re still friends, aren’t we?’ the word rolls off his tongue like its sharp, like it hurts to say. you scoff.

‘our friendship ended a long time ago. honestly? probably before our relationship did.’

he inhales, a shaky, unsure sound. you almost feel bad.

‘i don’t need you, mike. but thanks.’ you revise, and you watch him shuffle, before deciding to get up.

he doesn’t gather his things, doesn’t close his notebook. but he still disappears around the back of the library, and you let yourself breathe.

you’d been friends with mike for longer than you can remember. it had been one of those predestined things, that came with your moms being friends, and your dads working together.

it had been slow, as it grew into something else. steady. you’d always known something was a little off with him and his friends, when he’d come home with cuts and bruises neither one of you could explain.

and then you’d got fed up. sixteen years old, watching him grow sallow. watching his sister go missing, watching his parents in hospital, the way his eyes would go glossy and blank when you’d ask what was wrong.

two years later, you still care about him. maybe. you don’t want to know.

you blink as he resurfaces, two paper cups in hand.

he passes one to you wordlessly, and you look down. then you look at his, and frown.

‘since when do you drink coffee?’

he shrugs.

‘i made one for you in hospital once. you’d left by the time i got back to the waiting room, so i drank it. now i have them all the time.’

he pauses. as if he’s considering if he should say what he wants to.

‘tastes like you. reminds me.’ he adds, with a casual shrug, that looks anything but.

‘thank you.’ you say carefully, taking a sip. you don’t blow on it- you never do. he gives you a knowing raise of the eyebrow.

‘you just burnt your tongue, didn’t you?’

you scowl at him. ‘stop that.’

he smiles, a curious thing. ‘stop what?’

‘knowing me. you don’t get to do that anymore.’

he tilts his head to the side, admiring you.

‘can’t help it. you don’t just unlearn someone like that. you still know me, too.’

you shake your head. ‘you didn't let me know you, mikey.’

the nickname hurts. he hadn’t expected to feel such a pang.

‘s’not true. you knew everything else. i just couldn’t-‘

‘you could’ve. you didn’t want to. everyone else knew, mike. all your other friends. jane, who you told me not to worry about. jesus, even my sister. how was vickie meant to help? i saw her, that look in her face, and i just knew. knew she’d been let in or whatever secret it was. and i was left out, as usual. like a fuckin’ idiot.’

he cuts you off by grabbing the palm of your hand, a little too tight. you nearly flinch.

‘i couldn’t. i couldn’t tell you. they asked me to, you know? they thought you could’ve helped. but i couldn’t.’

‘why, mike? why?’

‘because i loved you too much to do that to you. you might’ve- what if you died? what if you died, and it was my fault? and i had to watch- knowing i could’ve let you avoid it all.’

you hesitate. ‘but you knew it was going to end like this. surely, surely you must’ve known you’d lose me. you saw it was killing me anyway.’

he squeezes your hand. ‘yeah. it was killing me too. but not- not literally. that’s what counts. you’re still here. i can still touch you.’

‘but not like-‘

‘-no. but that doesn’t matter. it’s better than the alternative.’

you shrink your hand away.

‘alright.’

he blinks. ‘alright.’

you let a heavy silence settle between you, the scrapes of biro and ink being the only sound you dare make.

‘i wish- i wish you’d told me. i wish you’d tell me now. i didn’t have to get involved, if you hadn’t wanted me to. i just- you were struggling. you were sad. i couldn’t help you.’

he looks up, a little surprised.

‘i struggled the most when you left. you were like an escape for me. i guess i didn’t want to give that up. it was- it was a mess.’ he mumbles, and you pause.

‘oh.’

‘yeah. i miss you, you know? even as a friend. we used to be such good friends.’

you nod. ‘we really did. do you remember, that time you accidentally turned the sprinklers on? and we drenched nancy and barb. she was so angry.’ you chuckle, and he laughs. the sound churns in your gut.

‘what about that time we tried to bake brownies and you accidentally lit a towel on fire?’ he counters, and you stifle a giggle.

‘okay, well what about the first time you kissed me? you had a cold. it was disgusting.’

he gives you an outraged glare. ‘i was delirious. thought i was close to death. you were my saviour. and i thought we agreed to never bring that up again.’

your laugh erupts from you now, an undignified sound, and someone behind you mutters an irritated ‘shush.’

mike nods at you righteously.

‘yeah, shush. this is a quiet space, you know?’

you kick him under the table, making him yelp, and then there’s a chorus of noise complaints.

suddenly, you drag your eyes up to the clock on the wall and your eyes widen.

‘shit, i need to run. i’ll, uh, see you around. bye, mike.’

he gives you a rueful grin. ‘it was nice to hear you laugh again. bye.’

you roll your eyes, but you can feel your cheeks warming.

‘yeah, whatever.’

as the cold air of the evening hits your face, you inhale. something softer than sadness floods across your chest.

you’re not sure what you were expecting. you expected to be angry, to resent him. but looking at his eyes, the way he’d gripped your hand- you couldn’t. it was easier to laugh at him than to scream.

maybe you’re more over him than you thought.

mike hugs his knees to his chest, staring at the empty chair in front of him. he can still visualise the smile you had etched on your face. he nearly shudders.

you’d done a good job of avoiding him for nearly two years. he still looked for you in every classroom, still tried to hear that laugh, but it had always escaped him.

he’s not sure what he was expecting. he doesn’t feel all that hopeful, though. he just feels like it’s over, in a way he hadn’t let himself acknowledge before.

‘the fuck are you doing, wheeler?’

he smiles, a wicked thing.

‘c’mon. we’re past the point of pretending now.’

you roll your eyes. ‘use your words, mike. normal ones.’

he shrugs, like it’s obvious. ‘you’re into me. and i’m charitable. so, here we are. i just don’t believe in vulgar pda, or id-‘

‘what, stick your tongue down my throat? don’t be stupid. and if anyone’s a charity case here, it sure isn’t me.’

you drop your voice a little, lips brushing his ear.

‘don’t do that again.’

‘why not? y’ashamed of me?’

you raise an eyebrow. ‘d’you want an honest answer. i don’t think you’d like what i have to say.’

‘i like everything you say.’ he counters. you laugh.

‘well, i like you quiet. so i’ll do the talking.’

before he can reply, lucas sidles up beside him.

‘what are you two arguing about now?’

you shrug. ‘he’s being annoying, as usual.’

lucas chuckles. ‘right. you two are never going to get along, are you? i still can’t believe we caught you-‘

you glare at him. ‘one more word and i kill you, sinclair. it was a mistake. one time, drunk error. never again, right mike?’

mike nods, narrowing his eyes. ‘never.’

half an hour later, you find yourself somewhat squashed between two shelves in the equipment cupboard outside the gym.

‘you know, i almost want to tell lucas about this.’ mike smiles, his breath ghosting over your neck. you try to scowl, but you’re nearly squirming as his hands rest by your hips.

‘you wouldn’t dare.’

his eyes flick from your shoulders to your eyes, and he raises an eyebrow.

‘wouldn’t i?’

‘no, you wouldn’t. cause then this would end. and you like me too much.’

he pauses, as if he’s considering what you’re saying. you both know you’re right, but he’d probably rather die than admit it. so instead, in true mike wheeler fashion, he just shrugs.

‘sure, baby. we’ll see.’

you scoff. ‘never call me that again.’

he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, feeling the pulse under his lips. he swears he feels it jump.

‘say please, baby. you’re so rude to me.’

you cackle, tugging him away from you with his hair. pulling his curls a little, you make him look up, meeting your stare.

‘mike. i’m being serious. i’m not your girlfriend. you don’t get to call me that.’

he huffs. ‘you could be, y’know. i could be good enough for you, if you weren’t a douche.’

you make an outraged shriek. ‘me? the douche? you’re just so fucking annoying, talking all the time, thinking you’re so-‘

he cuts you off by swallowing your complaints with his tongue, and you grip the front of his shirt, curling it under your fist. he staggers towards you, foreheads brushing, nose bumping into your cheek.

he makes a breathy noise of surprise, and it makes your stomach warm, but you push it down.

in all honesty, you’re not sure how you do feel about mike. you don’t like him much. not really, and definitely not like that. you’re not lying- he does talk too much, and he’s annoying as fuck.

he’s not wrong about you though, either. you are a douche to him. a lot.

and yet, you’re a little addicted, drunk on his laugh, on the heat of his hands. you’re not sure why neither of you can last more than an hour without brushing palms or twisting limbs, and how you find yourself cramped in abandoned storage closets and the broken-down toilets by the pool.

your back rests against the cool brick wall, and his knee nudges between your legs. you inhale a little, hands growing a little shaky.

‘y’okay?’

you glance up at him, unsure what to say, until you see that familiar gleam in his eyes. he pushes forward a little, but you refuse to let your breath hitch. instead, you just nod.

‘shut up.’

‘didn’t say anything.’ he mumbles, grinning to himself as your hands slide around his neck.

then the bell sounds, a shrill ring, and you push him away from you.

‘we have class.’

‘i know.’

‘we should go.’

he nods. ‘probably.’

he pauses. ‘we could be late, though.’

you hum to yourself. ‘could be. don’t want to be, though.’

he sighs. ‘fine. am i-‘

‘-still not allowed to sit next to me? yeah. i’ll see you after.’

‘right.’

mike is only half paying attention to the film that evening. his arm is dangling over the edge of the sofa, casually brushing your back, but no one else in the group can see.

there’s a permanent frown on his face, one that’s been there for the last few weeks. that’s how long this thing has been going on for- since he’d climbed back in your window the next day, and he’d ended up silent with swollen lips.

he’s still horrifically obsessed with you, and he’s not all that happy about it. he’d figured, having you like this, has been what he wanted. but now he’s not so sure.

he thinks he might want the smaller things too. resting an arm around you absent-mindedly. smelling your perfume on his clothes. going on stupid dates and buying overpriced milkshakes. he’d never tell you that, though. he probably wouldn’t even get half way through before you’d tell him to stop talking.

you and max leave early, meaning it’s just him and lucas on the couch in his basement.

‘what’s up with you?’

mike straightens. ‘huh?’

‘you’re mad about something. explain.’

mike sighs. ‘okay. so, i’m kind of. uh. seeing someone? but not really. we just, uh. make out and whatever. you know-‘

lucas raises an eyebrow. ‘who?’

‘ i can’t say. that’s the problem. she doesn’t like me, not really. so she wants it to be a secret. and i’m- i don’t know, i’m tired of it.’

lucas frowns. ‘have you tried telling her this?’

mike shakes his head. ‘she’d just tell me to shut up. seriously.’ he groans.

lucas laughs. ‘hah. sounds like you and-‘

mike winces at your name. lucas gapes.

‘no fucking way.’

the next day, mike is shoving a crumped essay in his locker, when you slam the door shut. you grab his wrist, dragging him outside.

‘someone’s eager.’ he mumbles, as you shove him back agaisnt the wall.

‘what the fuck, mike? you told lucas.’

his eyes widen. ‘shit. how’d you find out so fast? i was going to warn you, i swear. and i didn’t tell him- he figured it out.’

‘i don’t give a shit. we’re- we’re done, now. fuck.’ you complain, brushing a hand through your hair.

‘wouldn’t we have to be something to be over? and you made it very clear that i mean nothing to you.’ he retorts, and you glare at him.

‘don’t be smart right now, wheeler. you know what i mean. stay away from me.’

he shakes his head. ‘you don't really want that.and i don’t want that either.’

you fold your arms, nearly spitting at him.

‘yeah? how would you know what i want?’

he shrugs. ‘maybe i don’t. but i know what i want, and i bet we’re on the same page. even if you refuse to admit it.’

‘stop talking in riddles, mike. what do you want then?’

‘you know.’

‘mike.’ you warn, but he steps away from the wall, planting two gentle hands on your cheeks, angling your face up to him.

‘you.’

you shake your head, but don’t quite slip from his grip.

‘you had me. before you fucked it up.’

‘not really, though. did i? not how i actually wanted to have you.’

you falter, and he notices the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

‘i don’t understand.’

he grins, rolling his eyes. ‘sure. you tellyourself that. anyway, i’ll be at your window tonight, baby. you’ll let me in, right?’

‘mike, i already told you not to call me that. im not your-‘

‘girlfriend? sure. but if you won’t let me get what i want, then at least let me call you want i want, yeah?’

you pause, as he drops your face, and turns to walk away.

‘don’t come. i’m not going to be home.’ you shout, offering him a forceful flash of your finger, but he just laughs.

‘okay. sure. see you later.’

you let him in that night. of course you do.

‘you’re a bad liar.’ he mumbles, as he rests his head on your pillow.

‘i took pity on you.’ you retort. ‘thought you’d be cold out there.’

he pauses. ‘can we talk about it?’

you roll your eyes. ‘god, you’re so predictable. any excuse to talk.’

you hesitate. ‘i didn’t let you in to speak. i would’ve called you, if all i wanted was your voice.’

he blinks, feeling heat creep up his neck, but he doesn’t want to let you win.

‘no, we need to talk. i don’t want to do this anymore, like this. please, i-i want to call you baby, and mean it. and i want to be able to kiss you in the corridors, and let my hands rest in your pockets, and have it be right. that’s what i want. and you can’t pretend not to understand now.’

you pause. ‘mike-‘

‘yeah?’

he falls silent. you almost forget to celebrate it.

‘i don’t want to be your girlfriend. i don’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend. i’m surprised i even let you get this close.’

he falters a little. you wait for him to say something.

‘come on. talk some shit, or something. anything.’

his face contorts.

‘oh.’

‘oh? thats it?’

he rubs his face with his hands, ‘what more do you want me to say?’ he mutters, and you sigh, bringing a palm to his cheek.

‘i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have let it go this far. i didn’t know you felt like that, seriously.’

he shrugs, but it looks strained.

‘s’okay. i’ll see you tomorrow, i guess.’

‘stay?’ you whisper, the word barely passing your lips. he inhales. that’s mean, and you both know it.

still, he nods, slinging his arms around your waist as you turn over, so you don’t have to face him.

he waits for your breath to slow before he lets himself tug you any closer, in case you try to pull away from him again.

you lead the cheer team, and you’re on track to challenging dustin henderson to be valedictorian (although, him and his stupid friends are adamant that you’re not even close. which is lie. your grade average is only 0.3% lower than his).

there’s something comforting about school not being a place you dread. you can see that’s not the same for everyone, from their glares in the hallway.

funnily enough, though, dustin’s aforementioned losers seem surprisingly jolly. their hollers and laughs are as loud as your groups in the lunch hall, and they throw back any shouts with twice the twice, and twice the confidence.

you try not to antagonise them- frankly, they’re not worth the brain power. and you’ve managed to avoid them all pretty well (aside from lucas- but everyone likes lucas). you only see dustin at the club they pretend aren’t for the future ivy-league students, and max is practically a ghost in your history class.

the emo one, mick (you think), is the one you hear the most complaints about. a ‘pompous prick’ was the most recent one. but you’d never reacted with him, until-

‘sorry, i’m late. this is physics, right? they’ve moved my class.’

you blink, staring at him. mick (?) waits for a reply, slinging his bag onto the table and sitting down.

‘uh, yeah. this is physics. but this seat-‘

marcus, who actually sits there, walks in. when he sees his chair is taken, his jaw slackens. you shoot him apologetic smile, with an ‘i’ll explain later’ expression, but he just shakes his head and saunters further into the class.

‘great. this schools admin fuckin’ sucks. i’m mike, by the way. obviously, i know who you are.’

you give him a slightly cold stare, but nod. he waits for a reply, but he never gets one.

‘right. okay. sorry, am i okay to sit here? or is talking to someone like me not allowed.’

you roll your eyes at him. ‘what are you talking about, mick?’

‘mike.’ he corrects, and you groan.

‘sorry. i’m trying to-like- listen? this is my worst class.’

his eyes widen a little in surprise. ‘huh, really. i didn’t realise you were bad at anything.’

you shrug. ‘i’m not. my grade average is 91%’

he gives you a sympathetic look. ‘well, mine is 93%. let me know if you need any help.’

mike relaxes a little, stretching. his leg bumps yours under the desk, and you scowl, but don’t give him any more of a reaction.

that is until you hear a ‘-and partners for this assignment are based on the seating chart.’

‘shit.’ you complain, dropping your head into your hands.

‘excuse me? i’m right here, you know.’

you glare at him. ‘yeah, i fucking know. thats the issue.’

he narrows his eyes. ‘right. sorry you can’t be with your head-empty pretty boyfriend and you’re stuck with me instead.’

‘you think he’s pretty, mike? i’ll let him know.’

you wait for him to redden, to straighten, but his expression barely changes.

you’re almost impressed.

‘my house, after school. then we can get it over with.’

‘sure, but my house instead.’ he replies.

you shrug. ‘whatever. now, don’t talk to me for the rest of the lesson, ‘kay?’

‘yes ma’am.’

‘so, if the force is applied here instead, that should solve it.’

mike narrows his eyes.

‘i think you might be right, actually. but this- it feels too easy.’

you shrug. ‘maybe it’s meant to be. considering we actually know what we’re doing.’

he hums.

you’re stretched out on your stomach across the rug, pen between your teeth. he’s sitting on his couch, watching you.

without warning, you feel a hand on the side of your leg.

‘mike-‘ you hiss. he chuckles.

‘bend your leg up slowly. i want to try something.’

you’re not sure why you oblige so readily, but you move. the press of his fingers becomes firmer, the close to 90 degrees you get.

as your leg reaches fully bent, he pushes a little too hard, and you wince.

‘what was that for?’ you ask, twisting your neck to look at him. he hums.

‘i just- i wondered if pressure could make a difference. if maybe you wouldn’t make it all the way.’

his fingers are still resting lazily on your bare leg, and you shift, sitting up.

‘okay. my turn, then. come down here.’

a flicker of confusion passes over his face, but he slinks off the couch anyway, resting against it as he crosses his legs.

you take a curl of his hair between your fingers, twisting it absentmindedly. he inhales.

‘i want you to keep your head straight here. if it moves, you lose.’

‘what- what are you investigating?’

‘tension.’ you reply quickly, biting back a smile.

then you pull. a light tug. his head shifts instinctively.

‘right. idea is you’re applying an opposing force, yeah?’

he swallows. ‘alright. just- be gentle.’

you chuckle. ‘i’m not going to hurt you, idiot. if you’re a wimp, i can just push my hand against your face.’

he purses his lips. ‘i’ll be fine. go, c’mon.’

you shake your head. ‘no, actually, you’re right. if it’s painful, we won’t get the most effective results.’

you bring your palm to the side of his face, and you push.

you can feel him resisting the motion, pressing back against you. so you push harder.

he turns a little pink at the effort, but you don’t let off.

‘okay, imagine you’re the object. how does it change, when i move my hand?’

your hand shifts upwards, so it’s on the very edge of his head, your fingers folding over to the top.

you can feel him relax a little.

‘okay, yeah. that’s easier.’

you nod, snaking your hand further down, resting near his chin.

‘and here?’

‘easier too.’

you grin. ‘so, my theory is correct.’

his eyes, previously locked forward, at some crack in the wall, shift to you.

you drop your hand to your sides instinctively, digging your palm into the rough fabric below, as if to scrape the heat of his face away.

‘well.’ he exhales, scrunching his face up a little.

‘well?’ you murmur, noticing how his ears have gone a little pink.

‘i guess, i mean, if we’re done- you can go home. or like, we could get a pizza, or something. if you have nothing better to do, which i bet you do, cause, y’know, you’re you. and hanging out with me is probably a nightmare, so. you can wake up now.’

from your one class today, you’ve learnt one thing. mike is a rambler. but not an absent one- every monologue, every extra sentence- they’re all intentional. a string of calculated words.

this, though? this isn’t like the muffled murmurs from class, when he was clearly trying to agitate you with running commentary. this is entirely different.

‘mike, do i make you nervous?’

you’re not entirely sure why you’ve just asked that. maybe it’s because he’s looking at you a little like you’re a whole different species, and you’re looking at him like he’s something to figure out.

‘what?’

‘me. you look nervous. why is that?’

‘i’m not. i don’t really get nervous, actually. one of my few rewardable talents.’

you narrow your eyes. ‘right. sure.’ ‘is that another theory we need to test out?’

this is funny, you decide. that’s the justification you’re going with.

‘oh.oh. thats not very scientific.’ he replies.

‘you’re going red.’

‘m’not.’

‘y’are.’

it’s slightly tentative, how you drag your palm back to the side of his face, letting is brush closer to his cheek than his ear.

‘i’m not going to push this time.’ you chuckle, watching as he tenses.

‘this isn’t very scientific.’ he repeats, a little shakily.

‘admit you’re nervous.’

you’ve also figured mike might be quite stubborn. you’ve always been good at reading people.

‘no. cause i’m not.’

you lean forward a little now. ‘have you ever kissed anyone before, mike?’

maybe he should be offended you’re asking. but his hair is messy, and he knows he doesn’t wash his hellfire shirt enough, and sure, maybe the only girl anyone ever sees him with is max. and it’s not like they’re all that affectionate.

‘yeah. yeah, i have.’

he groans. ‘don’t look at me like that. i’m telling the truth, i swear.’

you laugh, and he can feel your breath on his face. he nearly shudders.

‘i know, im teasing you. lacey did tell me.’

his eyes widen a little. ‘you- you talked about me?’

‘about the loser she kissed when she was drunk a few weeks ago? yeah, you came up. why do you think she pulls her hood up when jason yells over at your table?’

his eyes flick down to your thumb, which is tracing a gentle circle around the edge of his mouth.

‘i don’t get why you’re so obsessed with us. it’s funny- you can’t handle that we don’t give a shit about you-‘ he begins, hoping his words are hitting you, somewhere. they don’t, and he falls silent when he feels the gentle press of your lips to where your finger had just been.

not quite a kiss. oddly, it feels more intimate. more calculated.

oh, he blinks. you’re mean. this is mean.

‘admit it.’ you repeat, quietly. ‘i want your theory to be wrong.’

he wonders how he should play this. he opts to tell the truth.

‘yeah. okay, fine. i’m nervous.’

you raise a satisfied eyebrow. ‘okay. how nervous?’

he looks at you in disbelief, at the grin dancing around your face.

‘c’mon, michael. this is for science.’

he sighs. ‘pretty nervous. okay?’

you can’t help but giggle.

‘okay. so, let’s test this out. tell me if you’re more or less nervous, alright?’

his eyes widen again, almost in fear. and then it dissipates, when your lips are ghosting near his forehead.

‘more or less?’ you mumble, brushing against his skin. he shivers, but it’s more bearable, because you’re harder to look at.

‘less.’

you nod, pressing your fingers to the side of his jaw, and titling his head. now, your breath hits the side of his neck. he inhales.

‘more.’

he doesn’t need to look down to imagine the smirk spreading over your face.

‘yeah?’

‘yeah.’

you laugh, shifting away from him.

‘great. got a conclusion, then. i’ll see you in class. bye, mike.’

he gives you a bewildered look. ‘are you- what? you’re-‘

‘leaving. yep. i’ve got pizza at home, and like you said- my worst nightmare, and all that.’

you’re already halfway up the stairs before he’s even begun to digest what just happened, and why the warmth of your almost-lips is spreading across his entire body.

the next week, mike starts scheming. you were right-he is stubborn. but he’s also competitive. and he was right too-he usually doesn’t get nervous. he’s sure, when you’re not alone in his basement, you’ll be just as easy to rile up.

he arrives at class early that morning. just early enough to grab the seat next to you before you can save it for that marcus kid.

when you see him already there, he watches as you audibly sigh.

‘hello, mike. you can move now.’

he shrugs. ‘can. don’t want to.’

‘why not? aren’t you friends with that boy in the corner?’

mike doesn’t bother turning. he just smiles up at you, and it’s so warm, you’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself.

‘stop- don’t look at me like that.’

‘like what?’

you just roll your eyes. ‘if this is about the other night, i’m sorry. i don’t know why i did that. i thought it was funny. which, it wasn’t. i didn’t mean to-‘

he tuts, looking at the chalkboard now. ‘except, well, you did. didn’t you?’

‘no, seriously. it was-‘ you begin, but you fall silent, feeling his leg press into yours. it’s too certain to be anything but intentional, but gentle enough that it could be an accident. so you just clear your throat, and jot down the date.

he shifts his foot, so it’s resting over yours, your limbs near glued together now.

definitely intentional.

‘mike.’ you mutter, the sound only audible to him.

‘what?’

‘stop it.’

he stretches, leaning back a little. enough that it’s still casual, but it means his mouth is a lot closer to your ear.

‘am i making you nervous?’

you turn, with a little outrageous glare.

‘oh, don’t be a little bitch.’

he shrugs. ‘ignore me. if you can.’

‘i can.’ you grumble.

it seems you're stubborn too.

about twenty minutes later, you’ve almost forgotten it. you’ve got used to the weight of his leg agaisnt yours, and you’re genuinely enjoying these calculations.

then, you feel him shift in his seat beside you, pushing his chair back.

he bends forward, tying his lace. you look back up at the board, unbothered.

that is, until you feel his hand brush over your jeans, resting lazily on your inner thigh. you wait for him to move it. it seems he’s not going to.

‘mike.’ you repeat, a little more bitter this time.

‘yeah?’

‘what are you doing?’

he shrugs. ‘n’thing. well, question four, if we want to be accurate. i got -87N, did you? they ought to add some weight.’

with that, he adds some force his hand. it’s not resting anymore, it’s half gripping. you inhale, and hope your cheeks don’t betray you, by flushing a dangerous red.

it seems they do, from his quiet chuckle.

‘you really should admit it, now.’

‘fine. only cause it’ll make you stop.’

he raises an eyebrow impatiently.

‘mike, you’re making me nervous.’

the way you say his name, a little mangled, a little desperate, makes his own breath hitch.

you grab his palm, knocking it back away and shifting your chairs further apart. he realises he’s not the only intentional one- that tone, that broken whisper of his name- you’d won. and he hadnt even realised you were still playing.

that afternoon, he’s late to hellfire. he hates being late to hellfire, because everyone shares stupid things from their day. he knows he should love the game part of it, but that bit, the bit that makes them feel like family, is extra special.

his face falls when he walks into the room.

‘mike, we have a temporary guest. she said you guys are friends, so, you need to show her the ropes.’

you beam at him, giving him an enthusiastic wave.

‘hii, mike. i figured doing something out of my comfort zone would be good, and thought of you.’

someone beside you nearly chokes, and eddie laughs, loud and unbothered.

‘since when is this happening? good on you, mike. i know you’ve had a thing for her for a while.’ the guy sat nearest to eddie adds, and mike groans, sitting beside you with as much grace as he can muster.

‘we sit together in physics, s’all.’ he explains, and you nod.

‘yeah, and it’s not my choice. he’s a pain in the ass.’

‘we can agree on that.’ dustin jokes, and you give him a sympathetic smile

when he inhales, slumping in his seat, you pounce. ‘thing for me? for a while? oh, mike. why didn’t you tell me?’ you whisper, grinning up at him.

he decides the only way he’s surviving this is if he ignores you completely.

that actually works, for the most part. you get surprisingly into the game, yelling alongside the rest of them.

still, what stings worse, is you both forget. forget that this is some stupid, grand tease. that the way you’re leaning into him, hair tickling his neck, isn’t meant to happen. not if you didn’t want it to.

but you didn’t plan that, it happened.

or when you’d bent under the desk, trying to pick up some discarded dice, and he’d covered the edge of the table with his palm like it was second nature.

when he’d reached over you to pass something to dustin, using your shoulder to steady himself, and you hadn’t complained.

he doesn’t sit with you next class. he settles in the corner.

you don’t look disappointed to see him there, and that sucks. but after half the kids at hellfire had taken the piss, made a relentless stream of jokes, he’d decided he wanted this over. you’d finished the project in record time, you’d won everything else, and somehow infiltrated hellfire and left it better than it had been before. he doesn’t understand how you do it.

‘mike wheeler, can you stay back? and you.’ your teacher calls, as you’re packing up. you turn around, giving mike a curious look, and he just shrugs.

‘so, this is good work. i mean, it’s right. but i realised, its too easy for you. consider this one extra credit.’

‘i don’t need extra credit.’ you mutter, reading over the sheet of paper you’ve been given.

‘neither do i.’ mike adds, and your teacher sighs.

‘okay, well. i’m offering it to dustin and his partner too, so-‘

‘we’ll get it done this weekend.’ you snap, and mike just sighs quietly beside you.

on saturday, you’re back in his basement.

‘why didn’t you sit with me?’ you ask absent mindedly, scribbling down numbers. he pauses.

‘why do you care?’

‘jesus, just asking. did i go too far, coming to hellfire? i can’t tell with you.’

‘no, no. well, kinda. but it was fun, so it’s okay. i’ll show up to your cheer practice next week.’ he jokes, but it sounds a little flat.

you turn, sitting up and dragging your knees to your chest, looking at him.

‘was that guy- was he being serious? about you- you being into me?’

mike huffs awkwardly.

‘i wouldn’t go that far. it just- well, everyone loves you, don’t they? it’s just like that. it’s your, your effect. whatever. it’s stupid. and trust me, now i know you, it’s warn off.’

you chuckle. ‘sure, mike. is that another theory for me to test, or?’

‘i’d rather you didn’t.’

his tone is so firm, you nearly startle.

‘excuse me?’

‘it’s just- you kind of- ugh. this is so embarrassing. i get this kind of rush, when you seem into me. that’s normal, isn’t it? anyway, i figured it’s not- cause it’s just a game, so it doesn’t count. but i thought its kinda weird, for the both of us. and i just, it was so, ugh. you being right there, but not really, becasue its not real. it’s like being close to having something you didn’t realise you even could have. but in the end, you can’t.’

you take it in, slowly.

you blink.

‘how do you know you can’t have me?’

‘what?’

‘you didn’t ask. you didn’t- i mean, you could’ve just kissed me last time we were here, but you didn’t. you watched me go bright red in class when you- and you ignored it. i’m just saying- it’s not like you tried very hard.’

he guffaws. ‘oh, come on. you’re you. you can’t expect me-‘

‘mike. you keep saying that. yeah, i’m me, whatever the fuck that means. but i’m here, aren’t i?’

he pauses, as you stand.

‘this is stupid. let’s work on this after school, okay? i’m going home.’

you begin to shuffle away, but he grabs your arm.

‘wait. don’t- don’t leave.’

you hesitate, and that’s enough for him. he stands, bringing his other hand to the back of your head, tugging him towards you.

you let out a mangled sigh, and the sound rushes to his stomach.

he considers making some snarky comment, but the risk is far too high, especially when you’re looking at him like you want this, want him.

‘do you- can i-?’

you bring a hand near his chin, making him look up and away from you, and you bring your lips near his neck again.

‘yeah, yeah. please.’

he grins instinctively, pulling your hand away and pressing your mouths together.

you hiss into him, hands tangling in the hair that’s curling by his neck. he stumbles, the back of his legs hitting the couch, and you both fall back. he catches you as best he can, without letting you pull your mouth away. you shift your leg over his, trying to get more comfortable.

you push your foreheads together, catching your breath.

‘how long is a while?’

‘are you seriously asking that right now?’ he groans.’ and you nod, raising an eyebrow.

‘sure, when else?’

‘it was a while. and for the record, i knew it was physics. and i made marcus late.’

‘mike!’ you gasp, but he focuses more on the steady pink spreading over your face than the way you’ve said his name.