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SICILY AND REYNA FINALLY made it up the five million flight of stairs. Reyna was so tired to the point where she felt her knees could fall off. “Are you gonna say you’re welcome? Or you just gonna stand there.” Sicily rushed her. Reyna rolled her eyes, “Damn, can you atleast give me time to actually get inside.” Reyna motioned towards the door. When Reyna walked in, she saw a whole bunch of basketball trophies, awards, medals, — just basketball stuff. It was crazy because Reyna never touched a basketball in her life, so whose stuff was this?

Sicily stood by the doorway waving, “Okay. Bye Rey, I’mma talk to you later. Mom wants me home in time for whatever she got going on.” Reyna just waved, before shutting the door. She didn’t like to talk about her mom a lot. Why? That’s for even her to understand.

By the time Juju came back to her dorm room, it was already late. Reyna being the quiet person she is, when off the court—decided to try and take a nap. She ended up watching ‘That’s So Raven’ instead. But got alarmed when the doorknob started turning. Reyna quickly grabbed a shoe from her bag, ready to aim.

She heard a snip of outside noises, “No bro, I’m telling you Nike would never do us like th—“ “WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL. YOU CREEP GET OUT MY DOORM” Reyna said yelling throwing more and more objects around the place. Juju was practically balled up on the floor. “Yo! YO! GIRL STOP!” Juju said. Reyna had a terrible look on her face, “Oh my god. I’m so so so sorry. I thought you were like a kidnapper or something.” Reyna said helping the taller girl up.

“You good. I understand. People who came from Notre Dame usually all act the same way round Trojans.” Juju said laughing.

Reyna didn’t seem to find it funny. Juju read Reyna’s expression and immediately changed the subject.

“Anyways, so you cheer? That’s dope. I play basketball.” Juju said walking over and laying on the smaller girls bed. “Yeah, I can tell.” Reyna said gesturing at the load of trophies this girl got. Juju just shook her head, “Well uh, I’mma go shower. Nice meeting you?” Juju furrowed her brows. Reyna looked up, “Oh uhm, Reyna. Reyna Tamada.”

THE THING ABOUT JUJU is that homegirl wakes up at 5:30 AM. Every. Single. Day. For Reyna, she didn’t have to get up until 8:00 AM. On a good day? Probably 9:30 AM. Reyna was sound asleep, when she heard the shower running and Juju singing along to a very recognizable PND song.

Although, Reyna couldn’t hear it. So she just went back to sleep. Juju stepped out of the shower, put on a USC practice shirt and some practice shorts. Redid her bun. And was about to walk out the door, but apparently she made it her mission to check on you. “Rey?” Juju whispers. “Hey, cheerleader. Wake up…” Juju said poking the younger girls side.

“Nooooooo. It’s not time to go yet.” Reyna whined. Nobody ever waked Reyna up this early. Juju just chuckled, “Well for me it is. I’ll be back around 1:30 maybe. Don’t stay in bed for too long.” Juju said tucking Reyna back into bed. “‘Kay…” she said drifting back off to sleep.

Practice wasn’t that bad. Coach Jennifer wasn’t there today. So Reyna just worked on toe-touches and floor routines with some friends. Reyna liked—well, loved toe-touches because it made her feel like she was flying while taking on a pack of zombies in mid-air. She was nine. Nine year olds can dream, okay?

Coach Gottlieb ended practice early for the basketball team. She had said they needed “more rest than pressure.” So now, Juju, Kayleigh, and Kiki were walking back to Juju’s room. They were supposed to go hang out at Malia’s but she had just texted them saying, “hey guys soooo i mighta had plans with mother dear before i said yall could come over sooo. yeah. sorry in advance.” ‘That was literally the most Malia coded message ever’ Juju thought to herself.

Reyna had to run all the way back to her dorm because she thought she forgot her phone. Which was weird because Reyna never forgot her phone.

When the shorter girl stepped in the dorm. She furrowed her brows, she had never seen these two girls before. And if she did, she sure as hell didn’t remember them. All she could do was ask about Juju. “Hey uhh, y’all seen Juju?” Reyna said, mainly looking at the dark brown haired girl. She smiled, “Yeah. I think she went down to the dining hall. Wait, Kiki? Didn’t she say that?” Reyna was zoning out. All she asked was a question. Goodness, this girl loved to talk. Kiki smiled. “Yeah. She said something about getting food for Reyna. Because of her diet. You Reyna?” She nodded her head as Kiki put her phone down. “Cool. I’m Kiki and this is Kayleigh.” Oh so that’s the blabbermouth. “Heyyyyyy!” Kayleigh said from across the room on a bean bag chair. “Hey! That’s my chair” Reyna said pointing, before Kayleigh quickly got up and moved.

“Sorry. Sorry, I thought it was Ju’s.” Kayleigh said moving over to the desk across on Juju’s side. Reyna just chuckled, “It’s okay. You can sit there.”

Thank God. Juju came back and with food. “Okay. Everybody out. I wanna talk to Reyna about her first day here.” Juju announced. Reyna couldn’t understand why Kayleigh and Kiki aren’t able to stay. But that’s okay. She’ll talk to them later.

Soon, it was just Reyna and Juju. Reyna was flabbergasted, the school food was actually pretty good. “So..” Juju said clearing her throat. “How was practice and stuff?” Reyna thought about it for a second. “Well, it was good. Giving off the fact I started on a Saturday. All I had to do is just practice. Thankfully no classes today.”

“What about you, Ju?” Juju froze at the sudden nickname. ‘She must have learned it from Kayleigh or something’ she thought to herself. “Oh uhhh, it was pretty good. I hanged out with the team and stuff like that. So it was okay.”

Hell, they’d never been any of the groups thing.

Even after high school, summers were still spent in Mike’s basement. Dice clattering across the table, D&D binders, the same old couch. Some things never really changed.

But Will had.

He’d become the social butterfly of the group — he always had plans, got invited, had people outside of them. So when his new college friends invited him to a house party, it meant — somehow — that the rest of them got dragged along too.

Mike had suggested they stay in his basement, maybe order pizza, and play D&D like they always do. But everyone else had insisted they go — get out of their shell for once. And Mike’s damn basement.

And now here they were.

The house was stuffy, the air thick with the nauseating scent of pot. Every breath smelt like cheap alcohol. The music thumped against the walls, loud enough that Mike was already convinced he’d wake up tomorrow with his ears ringing. At some point on the way in, he was pretty sure he’d seen someone snorting off the kitchen counter. 

Mike stuck close to the others. There were too many people — it would’ve been painfully easy to lose each other in the chaos.

And yet, somehow, Will’s friends still managed to find him.

“Will!” a feminine voice called out over the music.

You and your friends emerge from the crowd, laughter trailing behind you as you make your way toward Will. He brightens instantly, arms opening as you hug him.

Mike doesn’t mean to check you out. But it just… happens.

Your skirt rides dangerously high, a few careless inches away from revealing too much when you move. Smooth legs, bare and glowing under the dim lights, standing on heels that give you a few extra inches.

“This is Mike, Lucas, Dustin, Max, and Jane,” Will says, gesturing between you and the group.

“Hi,” you greet, lifting a hand in a small wave before introducing yourself, voice light despite the chaos of the party.

Mike notices everything. The gloss on your lips — tinted, shiny, sparkling under the light every time you smile. The way glitter clings there, subtle but impossible to miss. Your earrings dangle just below your jaw, tiny hearts that sway when you turn your head. Your friends stand beside you, greeting the others and laughing together, but somehow it’s you his eyes keep going back to.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, Mike just smiles boyishly, offering a small wave back to everyone. 

“Uhm, we’re gonna steal our beloved William for a little, if that’s okay?” you ask, voice gentle, almost shy.

Mike swears you could ask him anything in that tone. With that gaze. He’d hand it over without a second thought and thank you for the privilege.

“You’re good!” Max says immediately, already waving you off.

“Take him, please,” Dustin adds.

You giggle at that. And it hits Mike straight in the chest. Then you link your arm through Will’s, fingers gripping his sleeve, and guide him back into the crowd.

Mike thinks that sound — your laugh — might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. 

He watches you go, eyes following the sway of your hips, the easy confidence in the way you move through people and noise, leading Will toward the kitchen without once looking back. You disappear in the crowd, and he still looks for you, long after you’re gone.

“Earth to Mike?” Lucas says, snapping his fingers and waving a hand in front of his face.

Mike snaps out of it, blinking like he’s been yanked back into his body. He turns his head, heat rushing to his face just in time to realize he’s been caught.

The laughter happens all at once.

It starts with Dustin’s wheezing snort, then Lucas, then Max, until the whole party’s laughing at him. Even El’s smiling at him, eyebrows raised knowingly.

“Oh my god,” Max says, dragging the words out. “You were gone.”

“Thought we lost you for a second,” Lucas teases.

“Shut up,” Mike snaps immediately, voice cracking just enough to give him away. He knows. They all know. His ears are burning, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Mikes got a cru-ush,” Dustin sings, loud enough that Mike panics for half a second, glancing around to make sure you’re nowhere nearby.

The others join in, clapping, chanting like a bunch of middle schoolers instead of college students.

“Stop,” Mike says, shoving at Dustin’s shoulder, then Lucas’, desperate and defensive. “Oh, you can all fuck off!”

They only laugh harder.

“Dude, that was the longest you’ve ever been quiet.” Max laughs.

Mike runs a hand through his hair, scowling, refusing to look back toward the kitchen. “It was not.”

“Uh huh,” Dustin says. “Because you definitely weren’t staring at her when she walked away.”

Mike huffs, crossing his arms, jaw tight. He doesn’t deny it — he can’t.

Because his friends know him better than he knows himself.

Another hour passed. And Mike still wasn’t having fun.

He tried not to be a downer about it — tried not to be that guy sulking in the corner while everyone else laughed and drank and had fun. But this just wasn’t his setting. Never had been. The music was too loud, there were too many people, and the strong smell of weed was starting to give him a headache.

He’d much rather be at home right now.

Instead, he was a fifth wheel.

Will still hadn’t come back. Lucas and Max were plastered, tangled together on the other end of the room, mouths pressed together without shame. Dustin and El had disappeared into the mass of bodies near the speakers, dancing and laughing.

Mike, however, sat alone on the couch. His fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, head starting to pound and he felt that salivating feeling in his mouth starting to form from how nauseous he was starting to get. His patience wore thinner by the second, irritation settling deep in his chest. He’d hit his limit.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet.

He made the rounds. Tapped Lucas on the shoulder mid-makeout, earning a sloppy grin and a half-assed wave when he said he was heading out. Did the same with Dustin and El, who barely heard him over the music but hugged him anyway.

Mike weaves through the crowd, grimacing every time a sweaty body brushes against his arm. The house reeks of sweat, cheap beer, and weed, the air thick and suffocating. At some point he stops trying to squeeze through politely and just starts pushing, focused on getting out.

When he finally breaks free from the crowd, he heads straight for the open front door, the cool night air wafting in that he can’t wait to inhale.

“Mike!” 

He turns just in time to see Will pushing his way toward him, hair messy, cheeks flushed, looking more at ease here than Mike ever will. 

“You leaving already?” Will asks, raising his voice over the music.

“Yeah,” Mike says, exhaling. He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck — a nervous habit. “You’re taking everyone home, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Will nods quickly, already half distracted. Then he hesitates, rocking back on his heels. “But, uh…” He glances over his shoulder, then back at Mike. “I kinda need a favor.”

Mike pauses, turning fully toward him. “What’s up?”

“One of my friends needs a ride home,” Will explains. “Everyone’s already drunk, and it’d just be more convenient since you’re already leaving.”

Mike exhales through his nose. His head is pounding, his clothes smell from all the smoke in the air, and all he wants is to get home — take a shower, let the hot water rinse everything off him, crawl into bed and pretend this party never happened.

But it’s not a big ask. And Will’s his friend.

“Yeah,” Mike says, shrugging. “It’s fine.”

Relief flickers across Will’s face. He flashes Mike a quick, grateful smile before turning away, calling your name over the music.

You look over from the kitchen counter, eyes widened, brows furrowing in confusion before realization settles in. Will waves you over, motioning insistently.

You weave toward them through the crowd, your steps unsteady. When you reach Will, you stumble, fingers immediately curling into his shoulder for balance. He reacts without thinking, slipping an arm around your waist to steady you, keeping you upright.

“Mike’ll take you home,” Will says to you.

You turn, eyes landing on Mike. “A- are you sure?” you ask, words a little unsteady. “I really don’t wanna be a burden-“

“No! It’s…” Mike cuts in too fast, the words tumbling out of him before he can stop them. Heat creeps onto his cheeks, ears burning as he realizes how eager he sounds. He clears his throat, forces a small laugh. “It’s fine. Really. I’m already heading out anyway.”

You hesitate, gaze lingering on his face like you’re still unsure of the offer. For a second too long, Mike is convinced you’ll change your mind — laugh it off, call someone else over, disappear back into the party without him.

He hopes you don’t notice how tightly he’s gripping his keys.

“Okay,” you say softly, a grateful smile pulling at your lips. “I’ll be with you in a second. I just need to say bye to everyone.”

Mike nods, returning the smile even though his heart is hammering way too hard for such a small interaction.

“Yeah. Yeah, take your time.”

You turn and head back toward the kitchen, disappearing into the crowd once more. Mike watches you go — again. At this point, he truly doesn’t mean to. It just keeps happening.

Will notices, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

The drive is quiet.

Not the comfortable kind, either — the kind that makes Mike hyper aware of everything. The hum of the engine. The clicking of every turn signal. His own breathing.

He’s tense. He knows he shouldn’t be, knows the silence doesn’t actually mean anything, but it still has him antsy. He keeps his posture rigid, both hands on the wheel, knuckles turning white from how unnecessarily hard he’s gripping.

You don’t seem bothered at all, however.

You sit angled toward the window, elbow resting against the door, letting the cool night air waft in your face. Your fingers curl loosely at the edge of the open glass, eyes low as the lights go by. Mike figures the house must’ve gotten to you too — the heat, all the smoke, the noise. It makes him feel a little less pathetic for needing to escape.

He keeps his gaze on the road, but every so often it drifts. Just a second. Just long enough to take a glance at you — the way your hair moves in the breeze, the lights shining on your face.

He wants to say something. Anything.

But he’s never really talked to a girl before. He’s talked to Max and El, sure — but that’s different. They’re his friends. They’re dating his other friends. He’s never had to worry about impressing them or saying the wrong thing.

He debates it internally, words forming and dissolving before they ever reach his mouth. He opens it once, then loses it again, jaw tightening as he decides to stay quiet a little longer.

But you speak for him.

“So,” you say, pressing the button as the window slides back up, breaking the silence between you two. “What made you wanna leave so early?”

He glances at you, then immediately snaps his attention back to the road — only to look again a second later.

You look pretty under the moonlight. The glow from the streetlights accentuating your makeup, glittering softly, and your eyes are heavy — either from the drinks or exhaustion, he can’t really tell. Maybe both. All he knows is that he can feel his heart rate start to pick up.

He looks back to the road quickly, pretending it’s just good driving habits and not an excuse to avoid eye contact.

“Uhm, well, I don’t really…” He winces, words trailing. “It’s just… it’s not my thing,” he stumbles out.

“It’s okay. I get it,” you say. “It took a lot of convincing to get Will to go to these kinds of parties.”

Mike smiles at that, tension easing from his shoulders. Of course it did.

“That sounds like Will,” he says, glancing at you again before forcing his eyes back to the road.

“He told me he’s never been to parties before he met me,” you add.

Mike lets out a soft scoff of laughter. “Yeah, well… we weren’t exactly popular in school.”

“Still,” you press lightly. “Not even one?”

He hesitates, thinking back. Dances in the gym they hadn’t attended since middle school. Bonfires they heard about but never showed up to. Houses full of people who wouldn’t have noticed if they were there anyway.

“There were… opportunities,” he admits. “But we never cared. I mean-“ he shrugs, one hand lifting briefly off the wheel. “We always had each other. That was enough.”

“I can see that,” you smile, completely endeared. “You guys all look really close.”

“We are,” he nods, a small smile lingering. “And you? Aren’t you popular?”

He’s teasing. Of course you’re popular, everyone knows who you are.

He still can’t quite wrap his head around it — how Will managed to fall into a crowd like yours. And even more unbelievable: how someone who looks like you is sitting in his passenger seat right now, talking to him like he’s not just your ride home.

You turn your head toward him.

“Do you think I’m popular?” you ask, a smirk playing at your lips. Your head tilts slightly, resting back against the seat, eyes fixed on him.

“I mean,” Mike starts, glancing at you and then immediately back to the road, “I kind of assumed…”

“What about me made you assume that?” you ask, voice soft. Your eyes go all doe-like when you look at him, the corner of your lip curling just slightly. 

Mike’s about to crash the fucking car if you look at him like that any longer. He quickly adverts his eyes back to the road.

“Well, you… uh…” Mike falters, brain scrambling to catch up with his mouth. “You just have that look.”

Your brow lifts slightly. “What look is that?”

Your tone is sultry, teasing — just enough to make his pants tighten alone.

He gulps, the sound audible in the quiet car. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles paling as he keeps his eyes locked stubbornly on the road. 

And what kills him most?

You know exactly what he means.

You’re pretty. Effortlessly so. The kind of pretty that draws attention the second you walk into a room. The kind of pretty that usually belongs to the girls everyone talks about. And you know it. Not in a cruel way — just in an aware way.

You just want to hear him say it.

Maybe tease him a little.

You watch him carefully now — the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the faint hitch in his breathing, the way his shoulders stiffen like he’s bracing himself for impact.

“I just mean,” he gulps, forcing himself to keep his tone steady, “you look like you’d be at a party. Not… hiding from it.”

You smile at that, studying him carefully. “I don’t look like I’d play Dungeons & Dragons?”

His head practically snaps toward you, brows knitting together. “How- how did you…”

“Will,” you say simply, like it’s obvious. Then you giggle.

He winces instantly, grimacing. “Jesus. Hearing it out loud like that just reminds me why I was bullied in school.”

You laugh again, genuine and unfiltered, and after a second Mike joins in. The sound of it — both of you — fills the car, warm and easy. It makes the earlier silence feel far away, like it belonged to a different drive entirely.

“For the record,” you add, once the laughter settles. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

Mike glances at you, his eyes widening just a fraction, caught off guard by the sincerity in your tone. “With D&D?”

“Yeah,” you reassure him, turning your head to meet his gaze fully, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

“Really?” he presses, his brows knitting together as if he’s bracing for the punchline.

“Really,” you nod, your expression turning completely serious, no trace of teasing now. “You have a hobby. You’re passionate about something. I think it’s attractive.”

Mike nearly misses his next turn, gripping the wheel tightly before he collides into a parked car on the curb. His heart slams against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoes in his ears. Heat floods his face, cheeks kissed pink and tips of his ears burning.

He swallows hard, feigning composure. Inside, he’s a mess — stomach jittering with excitement. No one’s ever said that to him before, not like this, not with eyes like that.

“I- I don’t think any other girl would think that,” he manages finally, forcing out a shaky laugh that sounds more like a nervous exhale.

“I’m sorry, don’t you have a girlfriend?” you ask, tilting your head curiously. “I could’ve sworn you and Jane had something...”

“What? No! That’s- that’s Dustin!” Mike stammers, his face twisting in revulsion at the mere idea of him and El. “I don’t… I don't have a girlfriend.”

You hum thoughtfully. “That’s good to know.”

You fall silent after that, letting the implication simmer without pushing further. Mike’s mind races, pulse thunders, left confused.

The drive comes to an end when he takes the final turn into your neighborhood. He pulls up to the curb in front of your house, easing the car to a stop. 

“And your ride in the Wheeler-mobile comes to an end,” Mike says, voice teasing as he shifts the gear into park before killing the engine overall.

You push the passenger door open, the cool breeze slipping into the car. You twist to look back at him over your shoulder, lips curving into a soft, appreciative smile.

“Thank you, Mike. If I can repay you in any way…”

“No,” he insists immediately, shaking his head with a quick jerk, his brows furrowing. “It’s no problem.”

“I feel really bad,” you whine, your voice dipping into a playful pout as you linger. “I know this was a huge inconvenience.”

“I’m serious, it’s not a big deal,” he chuckles. “I’ll be here if you need a ride home, anytime.”

That was a little bold on his part, and if he’s being honest, he’s kind of surprised at himself for how easily it slipped from his tongue.

You, on the other hand, feel a rush. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you bite down gently. His generosity hits you like a delicious slap in the face — selfless, expecting nothing in return.

You’ve crossed paths with plenty of boys who demand payment in crude ways, but Mike Wheeler? He’s different, and that makes you want to show him exactly how much you appreciate it without him even asking.

“What are you going to do after this?” you ask, voice casual but laced with intent, the car door already easing shut.

“Shower, go to sleep,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck, a touch of confusion knitting his brows. 

“Do you have time for one more thing tonight?” Your tone shifts, smooth like silk, low enough to send a shiver down his spine.

Mike's breath hitches, his mouth going dry as he stares at you. Denying you feels impossible — your presence alone has him unraveling. But it’s nearing midnight, and he knows his mom is still awake, the porch light left on for him. He swallows thickly, throat bobbing.

“Depends…”

“For me?” you ask, tilting your head further, pressing your cheek into the soft curve of your shoulder.

And just like that, any hesitation crumbles.

“Of course,” he says, the agreement slipping out soft and yielding.

Your words wrap around him, pulling him under, and he feels that obedient pull deep in his chest — disgustingly so, but he can’t help it. Especially not with you looking at him like that.

You don’t leave the car. Instead, you pull the door shut. Your fingers linger on the handle for a moment before you kick off your heels one by one, the sharp stilettos slipping from your feet with a faint thud against the floorboard. 

“No girlfriend, right?” you ask, eyes locking onto his, making sure again as you gauge his reaction.

“U- uh, no,” Mike stammers, body tensing in the driver’s seat, shoulders hunching as he readjusts. His sweaty palms slide down his thighs, and you catch the subtle thrust of his hips as he readjusts again, desperately trying to hide the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Like… ever?” you press, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, your gaze dropping briefly to his lap before flicking back up.

“Uhm…” Mike chuckles nervously, the sound forced and breathy, his face turning a deeper shade of red. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Mike. I won’t judge you,” you say softly, leaning forward slightly across the center console. The movement brings you closer, your perfume wafting toward him — sweet and intoxicating.

“I- I’ve never…” he trails off, voice barely audible, his fingers now nervously twisting the hem of his shirt.

“So you’ve never had sex, I assume?” you premise gently, your tone reassuring but still laced with that teasing edge.

Mike gulps again, heat blooming up his neck and settling like smeared lipstick on his cheeks. He squirms in his seat, the leather creaking under him — every bit the virgin he is, his inexperience under the spotlight in the way his body betrays him.

“Mikey…” you whisper, tone flirty and teasing, drawing out the nickname. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He hated that fucking name. Hated how his family or friends would tease him with it, turning it into a weapon that made him feel small, like some little baby. But when it comes from your tongue, he wants to hear it over and over again.

“No! I-” he blurts, too quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush, voice pitching higher with desperation and desire. His head snaps up, eyes finally locking onto yours. “I- I like you.”

“You do?” you ask, tilting your head, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you watch him squirm. A sly smile tugs at your lips, and you lean in just a fraction.

Your hand reaches forward, resting on his thigh, sliding up slowly, tracing the inner seam toward the unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric. You feel his leg twitch, the way his muscles jump under your touch, and it sends a thrill straight to your core.

He looks down at your hand on his thigh, mesmerized by the contrast of your milky white nail against the dark blue of his pants, and he gulps again. “Y- yeah, I do,” he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes flicking up to meet yours before darting away in embarrassment.

“I like you, too.” You pull your hand back, watching as Mike’s hips twitch involuntarily, a soft, needy whine escaping his throat before he can bite it back. “But if you don’t want me to repay you, I can just leave-”

“No! Please!” He grabs your forearm in a sudden surge of desperation. His eyes are wide, pleading. “I… I want it.”

Leaning back against the passenger seat, your fingers slip beneath the hem of your skirt, hooking into the delicate lace of your panties. Mike’s breath hitches, and he has half a mind to look away — but he just can’t tear his eyes off you. He watches as you slowly drag the fabric down your thighs from under your skirt, the lace tickling your skin before you kick it away.

His mouth hangs open like a fucking idiot, and if he hadn’t caught himself, he might’ve actually started drooling.

Without warning, you shift forward, swinging one leg over the console to straddle his lap, your bare pussy brushing against the rough denim of his jeans. Mike freezes, his hands hovering uncertainly in the air, as if he’s afraid touching you might cross the line.

It’s endearing, really — your slick folds pressing directly against the hard ridge of his erection through his pants, and yet he holds back, palms open and empty.

You capture his wrists in your grip, guiding them firmly to settle on the curve of your hips, feeling his fingers splay out tentatively against your skin, warm and trembling.

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Mike?” you murmur, voice low and teasing, one hand resting on his shoulder while the other threads gently through his dark hair, tilting his head back just enough to meet your eyes.

“No,” he whispers, the word coming out in a soft, needy whimper that borders on a groan, his eyes fixed hungrily on your glossy, glittery lips.

With that, you close the distance, your lips brushing in a quick, teasing peck, the sticky sheen of your gloss smearing across his mouth. You pull back just enough to see his eyes flutter, then dive in again, pressing your lips to his until your mouths mold together. Your tongue slips past his parted lips, tangling with his, the slick smacks echoing in the car.

You trail your kisses downward, mouth latching onto the pale column of his neck, teeth grazing lightly as you nip at the sensitive skin. “Can you pull your pants down?” you whisper against his throat, your breath hot and urgent.

You pull back, and Mike tilts his head up to meet your gaze, his brown eyes big and uncertain, pupils blown wide with a mix of nerves and hunger. But the way you stare at him — pleading, almost desperate — combined with the sight of you sinking your teeth into your lower lip, breaks through his hesitation. He nods faintly, hands fumbling to the front of his jeans.

The metal buckle of his belt rattles with a sharp clink as he yanks it open, the zipper sliding down in a hurried motion. He shoves his pants and boxers past his hips, his cock bouncing free, rigid and straining toward you.

Your gaze drops, lids nearly fluttering shut in surprise. Mike’s build is lean, his arms and legs stretched out in that lanky way that’s always drawn you in, and apparently, that proportion carries lower. He’s not thick around, but his length is impressive, the flushed head already glistening with beads of precum that form from the slit.

“P- please touch me,” he whimpers, the plea spilling from his lips in a ragged moan, his hips twitching upward instinctively.

“I will, baby,” you reply, the words tumbling out in a breathless chuckle. 

You gather saliva in your mouth and let it drip into your open palm, the warm slickness coating your skin before your fingers wrap firmly around his throbbing length. You start with unhurried pumps, your hand gliding up and down his shaft in deliberate motions, twisting slightly at the head to spread the precum mingling with your spit.

Mike dissolves into a symphony of whimpers and gasps, his slender frame arching off the seat as pleasure overtakes him. His head lolls back against the headrest, dark curls sticking to his forehead with a light sheen of sweat, eyelids squeezed tight so his long lashes fan across his flushed cheeks.

His lips part, releasing unrestrained moans that vibrate through his exposed throat, the pale skin there begging for more attention. You lean forward, your mouth finding the tender spot just below his jaw, lips sucking gently before your teeth scrape in a light bite, leaving a red mark that promises to turn violet by dawn.

Then, without warning, you release his cock, pressing the rigid length flat against his lower stomach with your hand. You shift your hips, lowering yourself until your soaked folds slide along his hardness, the heat of your arousal enveloping him in a teasing glide.

“Holy shit,” Mike breathes out, his voice cracking as his eyes snap open and drop to the sight of your pussy lips hugging his shaft, the wetness smearing across his skin.

Your hips take over, rocking in a steady rhythm, sliding your dripping slit forward and back over his cock. Each pass drags your swollen clit against his veiny shaft, the flared tip bumping insistently against that sensitive bud.

“Mikey,” you moan, the nickname slipping out in a husky plea as your fingers fumble with the top buttons of your blouse, popping them open one by one to reveal the lace edge of your bra and the swell of your breasts.

“Yeah?” he moans back, his tone breathless and needy, gaze locked hungrily on your cleavage, unable to tear his eyes away even as his hands grip the seat cushions to steady himself.

You shrug off your blouse, letting the fabric fall down your arms, throwing it on the car seat beside you. Your fingers reach back, unhooking the clasp of your bra with a soft snap, and you peel the lace away.

Mike feels like he’s fucking dreaming, like this is some filthy wet dream he’s waiting to wake up from.

His breath hitches, his wide eyes fixated on your bare chest like he’s witnessing some forbidden miracle. This is uncharted territory for him — those soft, full tits rising and falling with your quickened breaths are the first he’s seen up close, not filtered through crumpled playboy magazines or grainy pornos. The silver initial of your name dangles from its chain, nestling right in the valley between them.

He’s frozen, gaze hungry but hands hovering uncertainly, too polite or too stunned to make the first move. You take the lead, snatching his right wrist in your grip — his pulse thumping wildly under your fingertips — and guide his palm to cup your left breast, the warmth of his skin sending a fresh wave of heat through you. He squeezes tentatively at first, then bolder, thumb brushing your hardening nipple as his free hand mirrors the action on your right tit, kneading the flesh.

Your own hands slide up his arms, fingers encircling his wrists to hold him there, encouraging the pressure as your hips roll in languid movements, coating his shaft in your arousal until it glistens under the dim streetlights.

“D- don’t think I’m gonna last long,” Mike moans, his voice strained and ragged, hips jerking involuntarily to chase the friction, his cock twitching against your folds.

“It’s okay, baby,” you murmur back. “Whenever you want.”

You dip your head, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. His palms press flat against your back now, sliding up to pull you closer, fingers splaying wide to trace the curve of your spine as you rock faster. You both moan into the kiss, the sounds muffled and wet, vibrations humming between your lips.

But Mike breaks away first, gasping as he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder, hot breath fanning your skin. His body tenses beneath you — thighs quivering, stomach clenching — and then he shudders hard, a low whine escaping his throat as thick ropes of cum erupt from his tip, splattering across his shirt in sticky white streaks. The warmth of it seeps onto your inner thighs where they straddle him, his cock pulsing between your pussy with each spurt.

You slow your hips to a gentle sway, letting him ride out the waves, your hands stroking soothing circles on his shoulders while his grip on you tightens. The car smells of sex now, mingling with the faint leather of the seats.

Mike slumps back against the seat, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as if everything is too much to endure after the intensity. 

“Mikey,” you murmur with a playful lilt. “You still alive?”

His eyelids flutter open, dazed, glassy eyes, lips parted in a silent exhale. “Y- yeah,” he stammers, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, cheeks flushed.

You let out a soft, affectionate laugh, reaching out to tuck a damp strand of his dark hair behind his ear, your fingers lingering on the warm skin of his neck. “If you need to take a minute, you can.”

“No, I’m- I’m good,” he protests weakly, despite his heavy breathing and the way his hands clutch the seat.

With a gentle shift, you lift yourself off his lap, feeling the slick trail of your combined arousal slide down your thighs as you settle back onto the passenger seat. You smooth your skirt down, clasp your bra back on, and button your blouse. Mike guides his softening, slick-smeared cock back into his pants, fumbling with his belt.

“Shit,” he mutters, staring down at the sticky mess on his shirt. Then he looks up at you, realization dawning. “Wait, you didn’t…”

You only lean across the console, cupping his jaw to draw him in for one final, slow kiss — tongues brushing lazily.

“Call it even?”

Summer was nearing, and the basement was cooler than the rest of the house, making it Mike’s favorite place to sleep.

And he slept like a damn baby that night.

Until Max Mayfield came storming down the stairs like a damn hurricane.

“Lucas, I swear to god if I have to hear your voice for another second, so help me!” she shouts, her footsteps heavy against the wooden steps. She marches straight into the room and throws herself dramatically onto the beanbag on the floor. “My goddamn head is pounding!”

Mike groans quietly into his pillow as all the noise pulls him out of his sleep. His eyes squint open, adjusting slowly to the light.

For a moment he just lays there, disoriented.

Then his eyes land on the clock across the room.

10:00 AM.

He slept in.

Mike pushed himself up on his elbows, hair sticking up in every direction. He hadn’t even had time to get himself remotely decent before everyone showed up.

Thank god he’d changed before going to sleep — especially that shirt.

“I told you not to keep drinking last night,” Lucas says from somewhere behind Max, his voice way too awake for Mike’s liking. “It’s your own fault, really.”

She groans loudly, dragging her hands across her face. “Lucas, I am begging you to shut the hell up.”

“Hey, Mike,” Will says, sitting on one of the chairs near the couch. “How was it last night?”

Mike already knows what he’s asking.

He’s asking about you.

Mike rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, still half asleep. “It was good,” he mutters.

Will smiles at that. “She’s nice, isn’t she?”

Mike exhales through his nose, sitting up. “Yeah,” he says. “She is.”

“Oh, they got along, alright,” Dustin teases, brows raised as he looks at Mike knowingly.

Will’s brows knit together as he looks between them. “What do you mean?”

Lucas squints across the room at Mike’s neck. “Holy shit,” he blurts out.

“What?” Mike frowns, still half asleep.

Lucas squints harder at him, then lifts his hand, pointing at the purple mark on Mike’s pale neck. “Is that a hickey?”

Mike freezes.

Completely freezes.

His brain stalls out, eyes going wide as his hand instinctively flies up to his neck.

Dustin loses it, already having noticed it before Lucas.

“Hickey?” Eleven repeats curiously.

Max lifts her head from the beanbag. “No way you finally got laid last night, Wheeler!”

“I- No! We didn’t! We didn’t!” Mike stammers instantly, voice cracking as his face turns violently red.

“What does laid mean?” Eleven asks again, looking around the room expectantly.

Dustin is still wheezing with laughter.

Lucas has a shit-eating grin stretched across his face.

Will’s hands fly up over his mouth, eyes wide with barely contained excitement.

Max, meanwhile, looks far too entertained for someone whose head was supposedly about to explode five minutes ago.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, grinning as she watches Mike spiral. “Look at him!”

“Guys, it’s just- we didn’t-” Mike tries to defend, hands up.

“Dude, you’re panicking way too hard for someone who didn’t do anything.” Lucas says.

“I’m not panicking!” 

“You’re literally sweating!” Dustin points out immediately.

“You did hook up with her!” Will exclaims.

Mike’s head snaps toward him. “No! I just… drove her home,” he insists quickly, sitting up straighter.

Lucas raises a brow. “What, and she accidentally bit your neck on the way out?”

Mike’s face burns hotter.

“Oh my god,” Will suddenly blurts, clapping his hands once as an idea hits him. “I should call her!”

Mike’s head snaps toward him.

“No!” he shouts.

“Yes!” everyone else shouts in unison.