Mike and El (!!!) and 6 for the asks, please, I'm in dire need of more Mileven (but literally when am I not)
The first time he hugs her, it’s brief and chaste and she’s sobbing in his arms — as a matter of fact, it’s not really a hug so much as holding her up to keep her from falling; week kneed and blurry eyed she sags against his body for the shortest of moments, and then pulls back, because for whatever reason she fears breaking him, and he needs to see her — really see her, because Jesus Christ, she’s back. She’s not dead. And it’s not how he imagined it at all, the contact, but it’s enough. Because she’s real.
Their first real hug — warm, loving, desperate — comes later. They’re fourteen, and it’s late. Eleven is curled up in her fort alone, sketching the way Will’s been teaching her. That’s when Mike storms down into the basement. His feet slam against the rickety wood, which bends beneath his exaggerated weight. Within seconds he’s ripped off his coat, and plopped facedown into the couch.
Eleven leans forward, setting aside her papers, and stares at him. “Mike? Are you okay?”
He jumps, and rounds on her. “El! What are you—?”
“Nancy let me in,” Eleven explains, slipping out of the fort. She walks over to him, sits beside him, and takes his hand (in that moment, they both vaguely recall the day she killed the demogorgon, when she lay on the table in the science classroom, and he made her promises he couldn’t keep). “Mike?”
She’s pressing and she knows it, but she can’t help it. He’s on the verge of tears and she needs to know why. She can’t help if she doesn’t know why.
“It’s nothing,” he whispers, curling up into a ball and closing his eyes. “Just nothing.”
“Nothing doesn’t make you hurt,” she argues.
Mike is stubbornly silent, but El is patient. She waits, beginning to accept the fact that he just doesn’t want to tell her, or talk about it, when he speaks.
“I didn’t think you were here,” he confesses. “I didn’t know…”
He looks away, biting his lip, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “Lucas was getting on my case about something. It’s fine — I’ll get over it, I promise.”
He wants to cap it at that, and she knows it. El almost let’s him; he looks so pitiful laying there like that. She gently, gently runs a hand through his hair. The touch is so light it shouldn’t even be considered touch, but their eyes lock. It’s innocent, but it’s bordering on territory they’ve not crossed since November two years ago.
“El,” he replies, with just a hint of deadpan. It’s in his nature, he can’t help it. He squeezes her hand, and then withdraws his own.
El purses her lips. She knows he’s leaving something out — probably the major source of his discomfort. If it were anyone else, she would let them be. She knows very well, painfully well, what it feels like to be trapped within yourself. But she knows that Mike will only keep it to himself, add it to the pile of pain in his chest, until it all explodes with the lightest feather weight.
She leans over him, determined. When Mike turns, they’re so close their noses touch. She thinks nothing of it, but for some reason his cheeks redden dramatically. “Please tell me?”
“I-I… El—” he breaks off, gathering a breath. “I just… Lucas wants to know when I’m gonna ask you out, okay? But you probably don’t even know what that means, though, do you?”
El sits back up, frowning in frustration at the limitations of her vocabulary. “No,” she admits, folding her arms over her chest. “What does it mean?”
“Go on a date,” Mike chokes out, averting his eyes.
El frowns. She knows what that means, at least. “Oh,” she whispers. “Wh-why would Lucas…?”
“He didn’t mean anything by it,” Mike insists. “He just knows how much I like you and—”
They both stop breathing for a whole minute. Eleven’s face burns. Two years ago, she wouldn’t have thought anything of this comment, but now, after countless conversations in regards to Steve, Jonathan, and Nancy (not to mention Max and Lucas), she knows very well that there are multiple ways to use the word ‘like’. And she knows it means more than friends.
“I’m sorry,” Mike says, quickly. He sits up. “I’m sorry — I don’t want to ruin anything, I want us to be friends, okay? Always. I’m sorry—”
“Mike,” she says. And then she tackles him; throws her arms around his neck and pulls him close. He draws in a sharp breath, surprised, and then he’s hugging her back. Hugging. She knows hugging. Joyce hugs her all of the time, Will does, too. Sometimes Hopper, even. But this is… more.
This is need. This is every moment spent not touching but staring instead all rolled into one. This is crushed lungs and fallen tears and pounding hearts. This is… this is an embrace.
“El,” says Mike, quiet, and still holding on. “Do you wanna go to the movies with me? On Saturday?”
“Yes, you dork!” She buries her face in the crook of his neck to hide her smile. “I do. Of course I do.”
This is a… I’m back in Ohio, finally, and I got to dye my hair back its original blue photoset. Plus a Mimi, who’s judging me for not taking down the tree yet. I need a new bookshelf for the corner first gdi
Also, while I was away, the book wrap for Shades of Magic came in! :D Actually think I’m gonna frame and hang it up, because it goes with the overall color theme of my living room.
Alya not only convinces Marinette to make an etsy listing for the Chat Noir choker idea she made, but also convinces her to use the picture Alya took of Marinette in said choker. While Marinette can only see the flaws in the picture, Chat Noir only sees beauty.
When Chat Noir slipped into Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s room on a Thursday night to play video games, he was not expecting to find the girl sewing a small gold bell onto a black ribbon. “Uh, Princess, what are you doing?” Her hand slipped as she was startled out of her concentration, stabbing her finger with the sewing needle. Apparently, she hadn’t heard him come in, oops.