𝙞 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪.
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙮, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙪𝙥 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚. ⁂
𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 (𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮’𝙧𝙚 17), 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙭𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 (𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩), 𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙧, 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨. <3
unfortunately, your social skills peaked in the first grade. when you befriended your now best friend, will byers. sometimes you wished you’d gotten a warning beforehand, considering you didn’t realize that would also mean befriending mike wheeler, and joining their ‘dnd’ party.
you weren’t upset about the ‘dnd’ part, you honestly loved it. and you loved lucas and dustin, who had grown to love you back after their “no girls” phase had come to an end.
and all of that led you here. halfway-wasted. contemplating to hook up with the next guy who walked by you for entertainment purposes. although that might not be the best idea. but who cares? right?
you got up off the couch. gripping the red plastic cup some guy named jason had given you when you first walked in. you figured you’d stick with it. not knowing if it would be considered rude or something to discard it and take a new one each time you got a refill. which, coincidentally, was exactly what you were about to do before a hand you immediately recognized could stop you.
“chill out with that, harrington. you’re already drunk enough.” he said. his slender fingers lingering on your wrist. you looked down at his hand placement. too intoxicated to fully register what he was feeling at the moment, or what you were. he never touched you, i mean, if we’re being honest, he barely ever spoke to you unless you two were having some argument about whatever random topic he’d decided to disagree with you on simply to spite you.
he pulled away quickly. “that shit’s pretty strong.” refusing to even glance at you. “yeah, you’d know with all of those ragers you never got invited to.” you replied. ignoring the boy and dipping your cup into the red liquid. filling it up a bit above the half.
“i’m just saying. no one’s gonna carry your drunk ass home. so if you get fucked up, it’s on you.” he said. it was like his tone shifted entirely. before it was leaning more towards concern, now he was just defensive.
you didn’t say anything. instead you looked at him, confused as to why he suddenly cared at all what happened to you. he never had before.
he took your silence as a sign to carry on. but before he did, you noticed his eyes trail up and down your body as if to examine your outfit. it was a tight red dress. something you’d had stored up in your closet and figured now would be as good a time as ever to wear it. not like you went out a whole lot anyway. “guess i’ve got nothing to worry about. with the way you’re dressed, some other guy will probably take you home anyway.” he continued. pushing past you to make his way towards lucas and max.
you scoff, taking a sip from the drink in your hand. as if it was his queue, dustin approached you. without even turning to look at him, you began complaining. “that boy has a stick up his ass, i swear.” you mumbled. periodically taking sips from the cup, more for entertainment than actual enjoyment or wanting to get even drunker than you already were.
“who?” he asks, looking at you. probably half interested in your response. he could already tell when you were upset about mike or if it was about someone else, he had years of practice. with you knocking on his door every other day either to complain about something mike had said, or complain about him in general. most of the party presumed you both secretly liked each other and constantly placed bets on when you’d finally accept it. as far as you know, they were still making you and mike-related bets, just behind your back.
“mike! it’s like i can’t catch a break. i mean, he basically just called me a whore for no reason- and he’s so frustrating and annoying and he always speaks in such a condescending tone… it makes me want to punch him in the face.” you rant. dustin stepping away a bit as if you were going to explode in rage.
“right…so, is your brother coming?” he asks. you shoot him the meanest look you could conjure up in the moment in response to him ignoring you. “no. he said he had shit to do so i told him to forget about the party.” you responded. your interest still fixated on mike who was sitting on the couch across the room, talking to lucas about something.
“what?! he’s my ride back.” he complains, throwing his arms up in protest.
“hitch.” you responded. very aware of how sour your tone turned. dustin just stared at you in disbelief. you let out a small laugh at his expressions.
“chill, i told him to pick you up later.”
you let out a dry laugh. “are you joking? remember how freaked he was last time? if steve finds out i got wasted again he’ll kill me. i think i’d rather walk back.” you said. remembering the time steve picked you up from the wheeler’s and you’d been drinking with nancy.
“ha, good luck with that.” dustin said. walking away after giving you a pat in the back.
it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment you got absolutely shitfaced. you knew you drank a lot, maybe a little too much, but you still didn’t think you’d get this bad. with all the shit that had been going on, then mike setting you off, you needed to forget about all of it before you completely lost your shit.
steve had already picked dustin up, and your brother offered you a ride back home for the last time before he drove off with your curly-headed friend, but you decided to stick around in the hopes of the party getting a bit more fun. spoiler alert: it didn’t.
you spent half the night drinking alone in a corner while a bunch of guys you didn’t even know tried to make passes at you. normally you would’ve accepted, but tonight, something was different.
it was like mike took up every single one of your thoughts. making you completely ignore any other guy that tried to talk to you.
you tried to blame the alcohol, told yourself it was just that having your head spinning. but you were absolutely lying to yourself, you knew damn well he’d been taking up your mind ever since you met him. he’d been all you could ever think about. but you pushed those thoughts away for as long as you could. because somehow, hating him was easier than loving him.
and now, there you were. sitting on the floor of a stranger’s bathroom, thinking about mike wheeler out of all people. you threw your head back in order to stop the room from spinning. closing your eyes and ignoring the entire world that was behind that door.
“i’ll come back in a sec-“ he stumbled in the bathroom, calling out to our friends in a rush. he stopped when he spotted you. he looked at you for a second, or better yet, he admired you. almost like he was in a trance.
you open your eyes to find him still staring at you. although his eyes weren’t where you’d expect them to be. he was looking at your…waist? nope- lower…oh.
you close your legs quickly, having finally felt the cold air hitting you. “sorry.” you mutter. leaning against the sink.
“uh, it’s cool. sorry for barging in like that, it was unlocked and i kind of just-“ he cuts himself off. something you’d never seen him do in his entire life. something you wish he’d do more. “are you okay?”
“i’m great. why do you ask?” you retort, sarcasm coating your voice.
“well, it’s been almost a minute and you haven’t insulted me or anything.” he adds.
“taking the night off!” you exclaimed with almost no energy. raising your now empty cup in the air.
“you’re wasted…” he pointed out, awkwardly.
“you should be a detective. honestly, hawkins p.d. is really missing out, wheeler.”
“ok…we really need to get you home, harrington.” he said. suddenly forgetting about whatever he had gone into the bathroom for.
he reached for you, and in your drunken state, you didn’t even try to protest, slinging your arm around his neck and him settling his arm around your waist to hold you steady.
after that it was all kind of a blur. you remember some of the walk back to your house, and you also remember him looking at you every once in a while to make sure you were still conscious.
once you got to your house, you thanked any and every higher power you didn’t believe in that your brother wasn’t there yet, and neither were your parents.
mike led you upstairs. laying you down on your bed and making sure you were settled.
“mike,” you whispered, apparently loud enough for him to hear, seeing as he turned towards you almost like he was waiting for you to say it. “yeah?” he responded. matching your quiet tone.
you didn’t continue whatever you were about to say. instead, you looked into his eyes. his stare avoiding yours as he examined you. “hey, what’s that on your arm?” he perks up, his eyes finally meeting yours.
you look down, curious as to what he meant. when you finally find what he was referring to, you raise your other hand to go and touch the bleeding spot on your skin. which you don’t remember getting. therefore, you wondered if it had been self- inflicted, or accidental.
“i don’t know.” you say, wondering where you could’ve gotten it from.
“c’mon,” he continues, holding out his hand for you to take. you reluctantly took it, feeling as he pulled up your weight with just one arm and then led you into the bathroom.
he sat you down on the toilet, frantically looking for whatever he could find to disinfect your injury. your head spun as you wondered why the hell he even cared about you right now. first he said he wouldn’t help you if you got wasted, but then proceeded to do just that. you were tired of his mixed signals, and in your drunken state you decided to press for answers. no matter how uncomfortable it might make you.
he kneeled in front of you. a comfortable silence filling the room as he signaled for you to hold out your arm. he began to cure the cut. and now that you could see it in a brighter setting, you’d realized it was pretty damn big. you couldn’t remember where you’d gotten it, but it didn’t matter.
“don’t worry, i’m almost done.” he muttered, placing his right hand on your thigh for a split second as a reassuring gesture. he must’ve thought he was hurting you or something.
“no, um…” you started, pulling back your arm so his focus would be on you.
and so it was. you looked down at him, his dark curls falling over his face. and for some reason you forgot what you were saying, what you were thinking. he was so beautiful.
“yeah?” his soft voice snaps you back into reality. making you regain your train of thought.
“why are you being so nice to me?” word vomit.
“well- earlier…at the party, you said you wouldn’t take me home. and then you did. and you always fight with me, but then you’re nice…i don’t get it. do you like me or not?” you slurred your words. making it clear that your intoxication level was still very much over his.
he didn’t respond right away. he raised his right hand up to your face, pushing back the strands of hair that covered your eyes. eyes he could get lost in for hours, the eyes of the only girl he’d ever loved.
his hand lingered on your cheek for a while, struggling to let go. you stared at him, begging over and over in your mind that he’d make a move already. it was like your thoughts were moving so fast you couldn’t keep up.
he finally leaned in, as if he could read your mind, staring profusely into your eyes. the eyes of the only girl he’d ever loved, the eyes for the girl he hoped loved him back.
his face was inches away from yours. you could smell the alcohol on him, even though he looked a thousand times more sober than you did.
without even thinking about it, you pressed your lips against his. tasting the lingering vodka on him. you couldn’t believe it, a few hours before this, you “hated” mike wheeler, and as far as you were concerned, he hated you too.
but in this moment, you couldn’t remember an exact reason for that hatred. all you could do was think about him. the guy you’d been in love with your entire life. the guy who had changed your perspective on everything ever since you two connected. like, really connected.
all your senses were filled by all that was mike wheeler. and you couldn’t get enough.
he deepened the kiss, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. years of love he’d believe to be unrequited being unfolded in this single moment, one he’d remember forever.
you tugged on his black shirt, pulling him closer as he placed his hands on your thighs, still kneeling on the floor as you sat only slightly taller than him.
his hands traveled a little higher, “is that okay?” he whispered into your lips, holding eye contact as he waited for a response.
“yes.” you said, missing his proximity already. god, he had to know how you felt about him, right?
“wait, wait-“ he stopped, backing up from you. he put his hands up to his face as if he’d done something wrong. “you’re drunk- this isn’t right.”
you couldn’t really say anything. it’s not like he was wrong, but he wasn’t sober either.
“no, wait. i need to say something.” you shut up, hearing him out before you began to express your own feelings.
“i like you, y/n. i always have. i know i don’t show it but i kind of always thought you hated me so i thought that maybe hating you would be easier than to actually face facts….” he kneeled back down. keeping his tone soft and his movements gentle. before continuing, he brought a hand up to your face, cradling it.
“i love you. i always have and honestly i probably always will. it’s okay if you don’t feel the same- i know i’ve been an asshole to you, i just-“ he sighed. “i wanted you to know that.”
you looked at him, waiting for him to signal that he’d stopped talking.
“mike,” you paused purposely, bringing your hand up to play with his hair, admiring the way he was looking at you. as if you were the only person in this world. “i love you too. always have, always will.”
annaxmalina
izzy806
baratheonpilled
titsay
prguitarman
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
