" undefined care " 𝜗ৎ ͜˚ִִ. — ✿⁺. —-- - - --
pairing: mike wheeler x gn!reader
cw: college AU, undefined relationship, angst, drinking, vomiting, smoking, unhinged reader lmffaao, not proofread,
wc: 3.3k
a/n: this was written late at night so it sucks, enjoy it anyways !!♡🙂↕️
You hated everyone, but.. Everyday, on your bed. You find yourself with him. Michael Wheeler, why? You dont know. There was just something of him that attached you. It was annoying, you were sure it could've been black magic that caused this.. Right now, your arms are wrapped around him, holding him close. Taking in his scent, the scent of that natural crisp air outside and only a hint of his cologne.
His scent gave in a sense of comfort, along with the pitter-pattering rain outside. How can you keep up with this? All the years, since he's been here, you felt you had a connection with him. It was a weird feeling, really. If you told your highschool self you're still the same, just clinging to some loser guy, you would've denied this would ever happen.
You held him closer, squeezing your eyes tight. "Woah," Mike's hands caressed your back gently. There it was.. That annoying, rasp voice you'd give in to anytime, any day, any hour, and that sweet, gentle touch. Something you crave for everyday when he's not with you.
On days where you're not with him, you're drinking with friends or smoking outside by the corners of the campus.
"Woah" Mike's hands caressed your back gently. "Everything okay?"
You didn't answer right away. You just buried your face further into the crook of his neck, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath. You hated how easily he softened you. Out there, on campus, you were distant, sharp tongued, and usually holding a cigarette between your fingers just to give your hands something to do. But in this small room, under the heavy dim light of a rainy afternoon, you were entirely at his mercy. "I'm fine," you muttered, the lie tasting bitter.
Mike chuckled softly, the vibration resting right against your chest. "Right. Because people who are 'fine' usually try to suffocate me in their sleep." He shifted slightly, trying to pull back just enough to look at you, but your grip only tightened. He could smell your cigarette, but didnt throw in a comment about it. "Don't move, Wheeler," you grumbled. "Okay, okay," he murmured, his fingers resuming their slow, hypnotic trace along your spine. "I'm not going anywhere."
That was the problem. He never left, yet he never truly stayed either. You both pretended this was just a convenient habit, a way to kill time between classes, but the quiet between you was getting louder every day.
Suddenly, a ringtone from the phone on the nightstand shattered the quiet. You both flinched. Mike glanced at you, then to his phone. Alone time is about to get interrupted again.. "You gonna get that?" You mumbled, tone shifting back to grounded, and distant.
"What? It can wait, I just want to be with you.." Mike cheesed out. He nuzzled his face into your neck, giving it small pecks. You pushed him away gently, you didn't want to get more attached to him, everything would just hurt more. "I used to have a reputation here.." you huffed.
Mike smirks, "Oh yeah? The rebellious campus loner.. who secretly loves cuddles with Michael Wheeler? Hm?" He attempted to bury his face deep into you further, but you pulled back. Lightly shoving his shoulder and letting out a small giggle, "I could kick you out right now, Wheeler."
"Mmh.. you could, but you won't." Mike agreed, his eyes locked on to yours with a knowing look. That's what hurts even more, you know you would never have the strength to ever get him out your head.
You sighed and pulled him closer, "Whatever.." now you're the one burying your face into his neck, holding him close and gently pecking his neck. His fingers ran through your hair while your kisses trailed from his neck to his chest, then his face. The kisses burnt on to his skin, and your hands warm on his.
The rain continued throughout the whole night and so did your kisses. The only thing that left that night was.. Mike.
You woke up to an empty bed and a small note by your nightstand, again.
How long can this go on? You're not sure. You reached for the note, hand passing through the space Mike once was in. You unfolded the paper, read through the words: "Had an early seminar. I left you some coffee in the mug with a chipped handle, dont skip class today. - M."
You stared at his handwriting, neat, precise.. and frustratingly thoughtful. That was his trademark move, you thought. Leaving just enough trace to keep you hooked but vanishing right before you could actually confront what any of this meant. You crumbled the paper in your fist and tossed it towards the trash can, missing it by a few inches.
You moved out of bed, feeling like absolute shit. The scent of his cologne still set in your room, mixed with the damp rain outside. A reminder of how soft you let yourself be last night. Seriously, when will this end?
You keep to yourself alot, even from your friends, so why is Michael Wheeler an exception?
You shrugged it off, again.
Getting ready wasn't easy either, you would spot Mike's things left behind, like his toothbrush beside yours, his jackets in your closet, and the cherry on top, his watch, and other shit on your desk. Guess he's coming back tonight.
You threw back on your shield, a dark jacket, leather boots and a freshly lit cigarette between your fingers once again. As you stood near the edges of the stupid campus building, exhaling gray smoke into the chilling air. You spotted him. Mike stood near the library entrance, a large amount of books under his arm while he talked to a group of people his major. He looked completely put together, completely normal.
Like he never spent the whole night tangled up in bed with you. Holding you like you were the only one keeping him alive. Then, as if he sensed your eyes on him, he glanced across the crowded courtyard, landing his eyes on yours. For a second, you saw that soft gaze that was always reserved for you, and you only.
He didn't walk over, he just gave you a subtle nod before turning back to his annoying friends. Are they even friends with him? You dont know.
You took a long drag of your cigarette, the bitter taste made you miss the sweet sweet lips of his. It was infuriating, how could he just hold you all night, whispering sweet nothings into your ears, but then leave you alone in the morning, and speak to you normally? Like the late night talks were casual?
The whole day went on normally, except, the thing is, you skipped classes. You stayed by the corners of the campus, inhaling unhealthy amounts of cigarette smoke while writing up a story that was supposed to be due days ago for your assignment. The notepad in your hand and a pen in the other while your mouth held the cigarette.
Sitting alone at the benches, leaning against the tree. Examining everything for ideas, you really do try to focus on your assignment. But with every line made, it was a small, thin metaphor for Mike.
Frustrated, you cross out the lines on your notepad until the paper tears. Sitting alone with your thoughts doesn't help at all, it just makes everything worse for you. You only realize that you're only waiting for the sun to come down just to meet Mike. For him to help you. You were pissed, he's the one helping most of your assignments, why??
You slam your notepad against the bench, gave up on the story entirely and decide, if you're just gonna ruin your GPA, might as well go all in.
You sighed and turned, you planned to ignore him this time. Thank god your friends invited you to drink tonight, initially, you were supposed to turn them down because of Mike.
You head back to your dorm, tossed your bag aside, threw on a leather jacket and headed straight to the party.
So.. Now you're here, the bass of the music hit your chest before you even stepped through the front door. The party was already a full on mess, red plastic cups littered at the front yard, the air was thick of heat and smoke and a bunch of people spilled out to the front porch, laughing wayyy too loudly.
You pulled your dark jacket tighter around yourself, taking a long drag of your cigarette before flicking the butt on to the driveway. You hadn't told Mike you'd be here, actually, you left your phone face down all the way from your room, ignoring the urge to check on his texts.
You were supposed to take control tonight, to prove that you didn't need the quiet safety of your bed or the gentle trace of his fingers along your spine, or the sickeningly sweet notes he always left behind. You stepped in, it was warm as hell. The space crowded by a bunch of colleagues and the smell of alcohol filling in your nostrils.
"Hey! You actually made it!" One of your friends yelled over the music, shoving a cup into your hand the second you went through the door. "Yeah," You muttered, "I made it." Taking a heavy swallow of the bitter liquid just to burn away the lump forming in your throat.
The smell of stale beer and cheap liquor hits your throat hard. You drink anyway, letting the burn anchor you. The bass vibrates straight through the floorboards and your ribs, drowning out the lingering memory of his soft touch.
Your friends pull your further through the crowd, tossing jokes back and forth. It was disgustingly nice to be in. You just nodded along, leaning against the cold, plaster wall. Drinking full cups of alcohol, to be honest, you've never really liked the taste. Just liked the fact it distracted you from everything, but, every few minutes, you would think of Mike.
By now, he would've arrived in your room, tossed his bag on the floor and noticed you weren't there. He'd probably see the unmade bed, the crumpled note by the corner. For once, you try to let him wonder.
You take another deep swallow of alcohol, scanning the room through the haze of flashing lights and moving bodies. The noise is supposed to drown everything out, but somehow, all it does is make the quiet moments with him feel louder. You hate how he’s invaded every part of your brain.
Hours later, you're in some random bathroom, hunched over the toilet. Sick an exhausted. Your friend's are leaning against the door frame, asking who Mike is, and why you two were this weird, shadowy thing, as you mentioned.
You're extremely tired, throwing up even shit you ate way earlier. "Hate him." You choked out between ragged breaths, your voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. You wipe off your mouth with the back of your hand, cold sweat clinging to your forehead as your stomach finally stops turning itself inside out.
Your friends exchanged a look, one of them crossing their arms while the other leans further. "Clearly." The first one said, a dry half smile on their lips, "Which is why you spent the last few hours slurring his name over and over again."
"He's just an idiot.." you muttered, resting your heavy head against your knees, feeling the humiliating sting of your eyes burning. Your friends dont push the subject further, sensing that wall you built around yourself was about to crumble entirely. One of them helps you off the floor, handing you a paper towel and a glass of water.
You stumbled back out into the house, where the crowd has thinned out, leaving only the lingering smell of cheap beer and smoke. The noise, lights and the exhaustion finally catch up to you all at once. Standing in the middle of the chaotic living room, the weight of everything, the assignments, your head, then bitter liquid in your throat, and last, but not least. Michael Wheeler, completely crushes you.
Before you can stop yourself, tears spilled over, hot and silent, sliding down your flushed cheeks. Your two friends exchange a quick, concerned glance. Seeing you like this, completely unraveled instead of your usual, sharp, distant self just shocks them.
One of them, who lives in the same residential hall, steps up and gently grabs your arm over their shoulder. "Come on," they said softly. "Let's get you back before you pass out here."
The walk back was a blur of sharp, chilling night air and quiet footsteps. They keep a steady arm around you so you dont stumble against the bushes- or even fall face first on to the ground. They offered to walk all the way to your door, but you pull away at the entrance of your building.
"Im fine from here," you mumble, voice raw and hoarse. "Thanks." They hesitate, but let you go anyway. You drag your feet up the flight of stairs, the leather boots feeling like heavy weights attached to your ankles. You fumble with your keys at the lock, your hands trembling as you finally managed to turn the door knob open, fully expecting a dark, empty, cold room.
Instead, your lamp is on. Mike was sitting by the edge of your bed, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. The second the door clicked shut, he stood up. "Where have you--" he stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the state of you. Disheveled hair, heavy smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke clinging on to your jacket, and the wet tear tracks dried up on your cheeks.
His expression instantly shifted from frustration to raw concern, "Hey, what happened?.."
You stumbled forward, your leather boots heavy against the floorboards. You tried to keep up with your frustrated demeanor, but the alcohol and exhaustion made everything blur. "None of your business.." you muttered, "Get out, Wheeler." You slurred, voice thick and trembling. "I hate you, I literally.. hate your stupid face.."
Mike didnt move towards the door, instead, he stepped closer. His hands coming up in a gentle gesture, "You're exhausted, and you've been drinking. Let me help you—" "No! Don't touch me!" You shoved weakly at his chest but he barely budged. "You always do this" you whined, "you show up, act like you care, then leave a stupid..mmhrgr note andand- act like I dont exist during the day! I hate it. I hate you."
The words landed heavily in the quiet room, you could see the subtle flinch in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened as the harsh words stung. It hurt him, you could tell by the sudden shift of his posture, the way his breath hitched— but he didnt snap back. He was supposed to leave, yes, but he didn't walk out.
Instead, Mike swallowed hard. Brushing off the sting, and reached out to gently catch your wrist before you could lose your balance. "I know.." he murmured softly, his voice was impossibly tender, despite the harsh comments you thrown at him. "I know you hate me right now, thats fine. Just sit down before you fall over."
"Im not sitting down.. or listening to you.." you grumbled, though your knees were already buckling. Without arguing, Mike carefully guided you to the mattress. He knelt down infront of you, his hands working quickly but gently to unlace your boots.
"You're an idiot, Wheeler." You mumbled, staring at the top of his head, "a total loser." "I get that alot." Mike replied quietly. He slid your boots off and placed them by your desk, then reached out to grab the glass of water he'd already set at the nightstand earlier. He held it out to you, his thumb lightly brushing against your knuckles. "Drink a little bit, please."
You glared at the glass, then up at his face, at those soft, dark eyes looking back at you with nothing but quiet patience and unearned worry. It made your chest ache worse than the alcohol ever could. You took a small sip just to make him stop staring, your hand trembling so much he had to hold the bottom of the glass to steady it.
Mike took the glass and set it back down, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside you. He reached out, his fingers carefully brushing a strand of messy hair away from your damp cheek.
"I hate hate hate you.." you muttered.He doesn't fight you on it. He just sits there on the edge of your mattress, letting the harsh words hang in the heavy air between you.
"I know," Mike whispers, his voice barely above a breath as his thumb continues to trace soothing circles over the back of your trembling hand. "I know you do."
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he reaches up to gently unbutton your dark jacket, slipping it off your heavy shoulders so you aren't suffocated by the smell of smoke and stale party air. He folds the jacket neatly and sets it aside, treating you like you're something fragile, something that might shatter if he moves too quickly.
You try to pull back, to put on that sharp tongued, distant persona that usually keeps the world at arm's length, but your body completely betrays you. The exhaustion, the alcohol lingering in your system, and the weight of holding back your feelings all day finally catch up. A fresh tear slips down your cheek, hot and uninvited.
Mike wipes it with the pad of his thumb, his gaze softening into something so overwhelmingly tender it almost makes you want to cry harder.
"Lie down," he murmurs softly, placing a hand behind your back to guide you down onto the pillows.
You grumble a weak protest, but your head hits the soft fabric, and your limbs immediately go heavy. Mike pulls the comforter up over your shoulders, tucking you in with care. He turns to fetch a cold, damp cloth from your sink, returning a moment later to rest it gently over your hot forehead. The relief is instant, making you let out a long, shuddering sigh.
He turns to step away, likely to give you space, but your hand shoots out from beneath the covers, your fingers tightly gripping the cuff of his sleeve. You don't say anything, you can't bring yourself to, but the desperate pull speaks for itself.
Mike freezes. He looks down at your hand, then back up at your face. A faint, sad smile touches the corners of his lips as he lets out a quiet breath. "Okay," he whispers. "I'm right here."
He kicks off his shoes and slips into the bed beside you, careful not to crowd you too much. But the second his warmth is close enough, you strip off all your pride. You shift over, burying your face directly into the crook of his neck, your arms wrapping around his torso like a lifeline.
Mike breathes in softly, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, drawing you in close. His other hand finds its way into your hair, his fingers moving in slow, rhythmic strokes against your scalp. He rests his cheek against the top of your head, whispering sweet, low comforts into the dark room until your erratic breathing finally slows into a steady, deep rhythm.
The next morning, you wake up. Opening your eyes, blinking against a pounding headache and bracing yourself for the empty space beside you but..
Its not empty, his arms are still wrapped around your waist protectively. Hes there, fast asleep. The morning sunlight catches the soft features of his face, making him look younger, entirely stripped of that put together persona he wears around campus. His breathing is steady, rising and falling right against you.
This time, you'll finally talk to him.