𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 - 𝐦. 𝐰.
“‘Do not enter’ is written on the doorway…
Why can't everyone just go away?
Except you...you can stay."
Pairing: Mike Wheeler x Female Reader
Summary: Years ago, Mike decided to talk to a lonely looking girl at the playground. What followed was a fast-growing friendship that led to the construction of a treehouse in your backyard, where you would go constantly. Years later, after you go through your momentos, you spark an idea to restore the old treehouse. After some hard work and lots of stray hammer strikes, you finally test out your retired walkie talkie for old time’s sake. Little do you know someone else kept their walkie…
Warnings: Fluff, use of Y/N (sorry y'all i'm cringe like that), childhood best friends, friends to lovers, minor mention of bullying, valentine's day mention, no mention of Mileven, eventual kissing, occasional cursing, yes i did research the most wanted kids' bikes of the 80's for this, dorks in love, mutual pining, Mike is kind of a coward, not beta read, mostly written at night lol
Word count: 5.3k
Key: Green text represents the past, purple text represents the present.
(More under cut)
The early September air was cooler now, but still slightly stale from the heat of the summer. The grass seemed to be transitioning from a fried yellow to a more vibrant green, and the Hawkins elementary playground was alive with the chatter and squeals of playing children. Everyone seemed to be having a good time…everyone but you, that is. A little girl, all alone on the grass, ten-and-a-half years old with not one single friend. You spoke gently to yourself because there was no one else to talk to. Everyone was scary, mean, or just plain didn’t have room for the new girl. So, being the shy little kid you were, you made do with counting rocks, building fairy houses out of mulch, and inventing stories about the creatures that lived there. You were honestly pretty content; nobody bothered you too much and you were glad they couldn’t hear you ramble faintly into the air in front of you. One might even say you were absorbed—so absorbed, in fact, that you didn’t notice the pair of feet in your field of vision until the owner sighed exasperatedly and plopped down beside you. You jumped, almost giving yourself whiplash with how fast you snapped your head to him. “What are you doing?” The stranger asked curiously, unfazed by your apparent skittishness. “P-playing,” you fumbled over your words, your gaze darting between him and the ground. “Oh, okay. Can I play with you?” He prodded, taking a look at the tent of wood chips you were struggling to keep upright. You bobbed your head shakily, taking note of how black his hair was and how many freckles dotted his otherwise pale skin. The boy gave you a smile and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Mike, by the way.” “...Y/N…” You muttered, almost too softly to hear. You took his hand and shook it so gently that it might’ve been a muscle spasm, barely looking him in the eye. “Nice to meet you. What are you building?” Mike tilted his head at the now collapsed fairy house, and you felt heat tinge the tips of your ears. “Fairy…houses,” you said quietly—though to your credit, a little louder than before. To your surprise, he didn’t laugh in your face or tell you that was dumb; instead, he actually looked…interested. “Really?” His eyebrows raised, “What kind? Are there other creatures that live here?” You shrugged timidly, a shy smile tugging your lips upward. “Not right now, just…forest fairies. But there can be others if you want.”
“What if there were gnomes, too? And giant ticks?” He suggested, looking sort of excited.
“G-giant ticks?” You repeated, furrowing an eyebrow.
“Oh, yeah! They’re from this game I play with my friends…it’s like make-believe, but with a lot more rules. It’s called—”
“D&D,” you sighed, looking fondly down at your very first character sheet. The paper was folded, creased, stained in pizza grease, and in every way thoroughly beaten up. The blue ink you’d marked your ability scores down with had skipped, smudged, and faded over the years, but you could still make out the heading at the top:
‘Y/N the Clever’. “Man, haven’t had a session in months.” You had never quite kicked the habit of talking to yourself, although you definitely had gotten a lot less introverted and shy as you grew up.
After a good long moment of nostalgic staring at the paper, you folded it back up and carefully tucked it into your mementos box. You were sitting criss-cross on your floor, going through the memories you usually stowed away under your bed instead of continuing to clean your room. You only really did this once in a blue moon; life was just too busy to reminisce.
But you always found joy in going through the ephemera you’d collected over the course of your life. Especially your ‘Hawkins’ box, which was full to bursting with six and a half years of living here. D&D figurines, notes your friends had passed you in class or slipped in your locker; movie tickets from the now non-existent Starcourt; even the old sweater that was constantly bouncing between your house and the Wheelers’ before both you and Mike outgrew it (you never figured out who it had originally belonged to).
And last but definitely not least—your walkie talkie. Mike had given it to you when you had first joined the party, spending almost an hour teaching you how to use it because you had never handled one in your life. You had also begged your parents to buy you a bike so you could ride with your friends to school instead of taking the bus. It had taken a lot of convincing, especially since your parents were pretty tight on money at the time, but at seventeen you still sometimes used your bike over the car, so you’d say it was well worth it.
A smile crept onto your face as you reached for your old walkie, decorated (or more like littered) with stickers. You had so many great memories with this thing; late nights spent talking with the party after your mothers denied a sleepover for the fifth night in a week; days in summer when you would test the range with Mike, leaning close to try and hear through the heavy static; you were even able to look back on scary moments with the Upside Down more as ‘adventures’.
But your favorite had to be whenever you would signal Mike to come over to your treehouse…
A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead and over the side of your face as you hammered away at the nail in front of you. Mike held the plank steady as you worked, the two of you taking turns with the hammer.
“Almost…there,” you muttered, giving the head of the nail one last whack before you handed the tool over to Mike.
The only reason your parents allowed you to do this was because you were able to scrounge up a pile of old wooden planks from the junk yard and had saved up to buy some nails and rope from the hardware shop. Weeks of mowing neighbors’ lawns and digging through the cushions of the couch for spare coins had finally paid off, and now you could spend summer break hanging out in your new treehouse—if you could manage to build it.
It took what felt like forever, with lots of breaks and more than a couple loud swears when either of you accidentally hit your fingers. But after an entire day of hard work, you and Mike were finally able to collapse onto the splintery floor of the new treehouse.
“We did it!” You waved your exhausted arms around, turning your head to look at him.
Mike looked like he was about to pass out, cheeks red and overheated and his bowl cut very messy. “Yay…” he said weakly, shutting his eyes with a pained expression. You just giggled.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be worth it.” You assured him, reaching over to pat his shoulder. “We finally have a place to hang out!”
“We already have a place to hang out,” he reminded you, “my basement, remember?”
You gave a shrug, “Yeah, but…now we have somewhere for just us…you and me.” You stared up at the gaps in the ceiling as you said it, missing the way Mike’s cheeks heated up past their already sunkissed state.
“You and me…” He echoed quietly, too softly for you to hear.
“Hmm?” You asked, not having caught it.
“Oh—nothing,” he said very quickly, suddenly not feeling tired anymore.
Speaking of that treehouse, that was another thing you hadn’t touched in years. Mostly because both you and Mike had grown out of it—literally, there was barely enough space for one small adult to fit, not to mention two tall people.
There were also other reasons, too. Not only was the wood ancient, but the whole thing was pretty unstable. Somehow, being subjected to Indiana’s ruthless rainstorms and bitter winters might do that to some already damaged wood (you were honestly surprised it hadn’t collapsed into a pile of dust by now).
And then there was the plain and simple fact that you and Mike didn’t need a dedicated spot anymore. Being seventeen meant that you could go pretty much anywhere in Hawkins, barring the bars and liquor shops, as long as you were back by curfew. But even so, it didn’t mean that you didn’t sometimes miss being a kid, reading comics and telling ghost stories to each other all day. You were still best friends, but nothing could compare to the way it felt to be a kid.
You heard somewhere that growing older doesn’t have to mean growing up. At the time, you passed it off as one of those cheesy lines you’d see on motivational posters or senior community commercials, but now you wondered if it was true. Could you go back to being a kid, even just for a little while? You started to feel an idea forming, and with a gust of determination you stood up and abandoned your half-cleaned room for a much more exciting quest.
The trip to the hardware store was much easier now that you could spend your own money that didn’t come from mowing lawns (instead from your Summer job, which paid slightly more).
The harder part was figuring out how to maneuver the bundle of wooden planks into the back of your car (previously your father’s) and drive back home without breaking or ripping something. But even that paled in comparison to when you got home and actually had to put your plan into motion.
You started by replacing each plank one by one, but quickly realized that the wood was just too old and it would be better to just rip it all out at once and go from there. However, that was much easier said than done. At noon, when you began, you were filled to the brim with motivation and were absolutely certain you could finish it all in a day.
But now it was nearing six, the sun hung low in the sky, your arms wobbled and your stomach grumbled, and you were barely halfway done. Granted, you did have to make the structure bigger so that you could actually fit, and you were just one person, but Jesus Christ could you have sworn it wasn’t this hard the first time around. Finally admitting defeat for the day, you clambered down the tree and collapsed onto your couch with a container of leftover lasagna, entirely too tired to even think about showering.
The next day, you woke up with sore limbs and a blanket draped over you, but you found that you still had enough drive to hopefully finish this thing today. So you took a quick shower, freshened up, and picked up where you left off, much to the amusement of your mother.
Seven hours and a couple lemonade breaks later, you stood with splintered hands on your hips as you admired your work. All that was left now was to furnish it, hand a ladder, eat, and then you could finally enjoy your brand-new old treehouse. You were so giddy about it that it felt like no time until you were sitting up there, legs crossed under you and walkie talkie in hand for nostalgia’s sake.
“Mike?” You sniffled into the receiver, “Do y-you copy?”
It was 4 PM on a Wednesday in February, which wouldn’t mean much to you except for the fact that it was the fourteenth—Valentine’s Day. Not only that, but it also definitely counted as the worst Valentine’s Day of all time.
Your whole life, you never really cared about it, but now that you were thirteen years old, it felt obligatory to participate. And it would be harmless, right? Especially if you had already gotten a note a couple days prior from the boy you liked saying how he thought you were absolutely beautiful. And even more harmless if you stayed up late making him a care package to express just how much you liked him back, right?
Well, unfortunately, you did, and it wasn’t. It turned out to be so much the opposite when you went up to Jake Williams at lunch, telling him all sorts of things about love and the two of you, only for him to give you an alarmed and slightly disgusted look. And it was quite harmful when you stood frozen in front of the entire cafeteria, everyone laughing at you because, as it turned out, it was not Jake Williams who slipped that note in your locker. It was a couple of girls who thought it would be funny to break your heart.
So there you sat, crying on the cold floor of your treehouse after enduring half a school day of endless teasing and ridicule. And the only thing you wanted right now was your best friend, who wasn’t picking up.
“Mike,” you pleaded, screwing your eyes shut and pulling your blanket tighter against yourself. “Do you copy?”
Silence. Of course, the cherry on top. Until—
“Y/N?” Mike’s voice finally crackled over your walkie. “I copy. Are you okay? Over.”
You let out something between a sob and scoff, but it sounded pathetic either way. Of course that was the first thing he’d say. He was always worried about you, and there was no doubt that he’d caught wind of your incident.
“No,” you choked, “I’m really not. Over.”
Thankfully, he seemed to understand. He always did.
“Okay, I’ll be there in a bit. Over and out.” He told you, and then static.
You let out a shaky but relieved sigh, pushing down your antenna.
Five minutes later, you heard the familiar fall of a bicycle being dismounted, and Mike’s footsteps as he crunched through the late Winter frost in your backyard and up the ladder. When you saw his face appear, you instantly felt a bit steadier.
“Hi…” you greeted through a wet face.
“Hey,” he replied, climbing in and plopping down next to you. Your head fell onto his shoulder like it was second nature, and he froze for a moment before hesitantly wrapping an arm around you.
“There, there,” he soothed you in his best comforting voice, which you found helpful. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t get any Valentine’s.”
You frowned. “No, it doesn’t!” You protested, “You deserve them, you’re the best person I know.”
“Yeah, well,” Mike shrugged, ignoring the way your words made his heart pound. “You’re the best person I know, and you deserve someone way better than that Williams douchebag.”
You hugged him a little tighter, and he you.
“Mike?” You spoke into the receiver, “do you copy?”
It was more for old time’s sake than anything, and you weren’t expecting him to answer. You could always just call him if he didn’t, which was pretty likely since you assumed he’d packed away his walkie years ago, just like you had.
Just as you had predicted, silence.
You shrugged, pushing down the antenna with more care than you had when you were younger (now that you knew how fragile they could be). You sat there on the restored floor, letting the peaceful quiet wash over you. You were debating whether to call Mike at all or just tell him the next time you saw him…but instead, you found yourself re-extending the antenna and flicking on the switch. You didn’t really know what made you do it; maybe you were possessed by fate, but you repeated:
“Mike, do you copy?”
A pause, pregnant and stretched.
Ten seconds. Twenty. Then:
“Hello?” Mike’s uncertain voice sounded from your speaker, a little coarse but instantly recognizable. “Did anyone signal?”
“Just me. Over.” Saying the last word felt like a blast from the past (as if you hadn’t had so many today).
“Y/N? What are you doing on the walkie?” He laughed, “You didn’t forget you could call me, right? Over.”
“Obviously not,” you rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “I dunno, just feeling nostalgic, I guess. Over.”
“Okay…anything you wanted to say? Over.”
“Just that I have a surprise for you. You’re not busy, are you? Wanna meet me at mine? Over.”
An amused huff passed through Mike’s lips and over your speaker. “Always. Be there in five, over and out.”
You grinned, feeling a bubble of excitement swell in your chest. Even though you mostly did this for yourself, you knew Mike would still appreciate it. Plus, now you would have an excuse to yell—
“Surprise!” you exclaimed, finally taking your hands off Mike’s eyes. It wasn’t really necessary for you to cover his eyes for him, but it gave you an excuse for contact and he didn’t complain.
In fact, right now he seemed shocked, because two feet away from him, glistening bright in the late June sun, was a brand-new bike. And not just any bike, either; standing before him in all its glory was the Diamondback Viper BMX, the exact model, make, and color he’d gushed to you about months ago.
“What—how—where did you—” Mike sputtered, cutting himself off with a vague, broad gesture at the bike. You beamed, folding your hands behind your back and kicking one leg into the dirt.
“I may or may or may not have saved up to get you that bike you showed me that one time,” you admitted, tilting your head from side to side as if he had convinced you to share a secret. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as you spoke, a look of awe and something a lot deeper and softer dawning on his face.
“You…” It wasn’t even his birthday. Not Christmas, or Easter or any other gift-giving occasion. Just a particularly hot day at the end of June, and you decided to give him this wonderful thing out of the blue?
‘Six months’. He vaguely remembered sitting bundled up in your room last winter, you sipping a cup of hot cocoa with way too many marshmallows while he rambled on to you about a specific bike in the magazine catalogue spread out in front of you. It was such an insignificant afternoon, he was surprised he could even recall it. And yet, you remembered the exact model, the color—hell, even the bell and double seat accessories he’d wanted.
“You remembered,” he breathed, staring wide-eyed at you instead of the bike. You shifted under his intense gaze, letting out a nervous chuckle.
“Well…yeah.” You nodded, fidgeting with the hem of your shorts. “I know you didn’t get it for Christmas, so I…” you waved a hand at the general area of the bike, almost hoping he would quit staring at you like you just told him you were a serial killer.
“It’s a bit dated by now, I guess, so we can exchange it for a newer model—or you can just return it, it’s okay if you don’t like it—”
Your nervous trailing was cut short by Mike’s arms enveloping you in a tight bear hug, burying his face in your shoulder. You stumbled back half a step but recovered, your hands—hovering uselessly in the air—finally resting on his back.
“It’s perfect.” His muffled voice vibrated through your skin, sending a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with the weather. “Thank you so much.”
You grinned, returning the hug fully. “That’s what best friends are for, right?”
The telltale sound of Mike’s old Diamondback falling onto your front lawn made your head snap up, and you scrambled to stand upright. Hurrying over to the treehouse window and poking your head out, you were just in time to see Mike wander into your empty kitchen before walking to the door to check the backyard.
“Y/N? What did you want to—” he stopped dead in his tracks, eyelids shooting up as he gaped at the new old treehouse.
"Surprise!" You laughed, sticking your arm out to wave at him. "Wanna come up?"
It took all of two seconds before Mike let out an incredulous huff of laughter, striding forward to climb up the ladder. When his face popped up to the doorway, a goofy grin spread over his face as he took in the restoration.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he joked, catlike limbs pushing him up through the entrance.
“Well, I figured it was overdue for some updates.” You smiled, watching him sit down.
“But seriously—what made you do all this? And on your own? You could’ve called me, y’know. I helped with the first construction.” He teased lightly, nudging your shoulder with his hand.
“Call it a wave of inspiration,” you shrugged, “I guess I just wanted to feel like a kid again? I don’t know.”
“Fair enough. Definitely achieved it with the walkie signal.” He nodded at the hand radio laying near your leg. You shared a laugh, your eyes roaming over it.
“I’m surprised you even picked up. I thought everyone either got rid of these or put ‘em away for good.”
It was Mike’s turn to shrug. “I guess I just spent too much time with it to shove it into some box. Even if I do one day, I don’t think I would ever actually get rid of it, y’know?”
You nodded. “Yeah, too many memories. Same goes with here,” you smiled around at your surroundings, your gaze landing on Mike. “I’ll probably keep restoring it until I can’t anymore.”
He returned the smile. “Well, next time, you better call me, ‘kay? I don’t want a board falling on your head or something.”
“Pfft, me?” You gave his arm a playful push, “never. I think having you around last time almost did that to me.”
“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes with a smirk, and a comfortable silence fell between the two of you. You always loved being able to just sit quietly with him, never awkward or feeling the need to fill up the silence with words. You could talk for hours on end and then just enjoy each other’s presence, and it felt totally natural. You were so grateful to have a friend like that.
“…Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you really be here next time?” A hint of vulnerability seeped into your voice, but since you were looking at the floor, you missed the way his eyes softened on you.
“Of course I will. Why wouldn’t I be?”
You hesitated. “I dunno…all of us are going off to college in a couple months, and I guess I’m just scared we’ll…” A stinging feeling in your throat stopped you from finishing.
“Drift apart?” He said gently, leaning a bit closer. You nodded, lifting your eyes to meet his brown ones…those eyes that you could happily get lost forever in.
“I don’t want to lose you, Mike.” You whispered, and suddenly Mike didn’t see the bright, confidently awkward high school graduate in front of him. He saw the grown-up version of that little girl on the playground, shy and quiet but with all the emotion in the world behind her eyes, like even if she wrote ten thousand poems she could never fully express everything she thought and felt.
And suddenly, Mike realized he’d always been completely gone for you.
Without thinking, he reached out and covered your hand with his. “You’re never going to lose me.” He told you, this time not even needing to think before speaking. His eyes held yours; warm, steady, meaningful, and you found it impossible to look away.
“No matter where we are, how far apart, we’ll always find each other. I’m…” Here, his confidence faltered. The words seemed to linger on his tongue, ready to fall out if only his brain would let them.
I’m yours.
“I’m always here for you.” He meant it, he did, but it killed him to say that instead of everything that had been building up in his heart since he saw you on the sidewalk making fairy houses.
But you smiled, and you turned your hand around to hold his, and that was enough to make the aching lessen.
“I’m always here for you, too, Mike.”
“I’m yours.”
“What?” Mike’s fourteen-year-old voice cracked, a blush creeping up his neck that had more to do with your words than his puberty-ridden register.
“Your lab partner,” you elaborated, tilting your head. Oh, right. You were talking about biology assignments when Mike started zoning out, guiltily unable to think about anything else than what it might feel like to hold your hand like a boyfriend would, to kiss you like a lover might.
“R-right,” he nodded, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“Mike,” you scolded him, “were you even listening?”
“I was!” He defended quickly, eyes darting down involuntarily to your lips before they flicked back up to your eyes.
“No, you weren’t.” You stated, less scornful and more exasperated.
“No, I wasn’t.” He sighed, slumping down in his seat that was much too short for his lanky limbs. “But I was thinking, okay?”
“Oh, yeah?” You quirked an eyebrow in interest, “What about?”
“Um…” You. Always you. What else? “Important stuff.”
“Hellfire?” You prodded.
“Uh, no…something else.” His gaze averted yours, his hand reaching up to pick at a strand of his raven hair.
“Okay,” you half-laughed, half-scoffed at his demeanor. “I get what’s happening.”
“What? What—what’s happening?”
“You’re thinking about a girl.” You grinned triumphantly.
“Wha—you—no I’m not!” He protested, chair scraping against the floor with how fast he sat up. But the redness blooming over his cheeks said otherwise.
“Yeah, you are, your face is totally red!” You exclaimed.
“Shut up, I’m not—I don’t even—” he tried desperately, but it was no use.
“Aww, you’re smitten! Well, who is she? Is she pretty?” You gasped dramatically, “Do I know her? C’mon, spill!” You discarded your history textbook onto Mike’s basement couch, leaning forward to tease him even more.
Mike felt more blood rush to his face at your proximity, shifting in his seat. “It’s not like that, she’s…” He trailed off, unable to look at you.
“Oh, at least tell me what she looks like,” you prodded, smiling wider than the Cheshire Cat.
“She’s—well, she’s hard to describe, I can’t…she’s just, I don’t know, pretty.”
“Just pretty?” You raised your eyebrows higher.
“Well—not just pretty. She’s beautiful. And, like…basically perfect.”
“So why don’t you talk to her?”
I do—all the time.
“I just—it’s not like that with her.”
You scoffed, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Then make it like that. If you never take a chance, you know for sure it’ll never happen. Even if she rejects you, you’ll know you gave it your best shot, right?”
“Right.”
Oh, if only you knew.
You were trying to ignore how Mike’s hand in yours was making your skin tingle and goosebumps rise over your forearm. And God, if he kept looking at you like that you swore you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself from saying something dangerously stupid. You could already feel it—all the unspoken declarations of love bubbling up your chest, against your will you might add, until you could feel them resting on your tongue, pounding on your teeth to be let out.
“We—”
“You—”
You clamped your mouth shut, gesturing vaguely at Mike to tell him he could go first. You were actually grateful he started talking right as you did.
“I—I was just gonna say that you…you look…” He faltered, eyes leaving yours even though your hands were still connected.
“I look…?” You tilted your head, hand completely still under his.
Heavenly. You look straight out of a dream. And I want to kiss you so bad right now—
“T-tired,” Mike cut off his own train of thought, cheeks tinging pink. “From, like, all the heavy lifting.”
“Oh,” you breathed, relieved and disappointed at the same time.
“I mean—not, like, bad,” he overcorrected, picking up on your tone but totally misinterpreting it. “In fact, you look, um, good. You’ve got, I don’t know, glowy skin?”
“Glowy skin?” You repeated, a bit confused. Mike dragged a hand over his face in frustration.
“Just—next time you need to do something like this, call me, okay? I just don’t want you to get a hernia or something. Not that you’re weak, you’re actually freakishly strong—”
“Mike.”
“But everyone has their limit, y’know? So if you ever need someone to lift extra planks or whatever—I’m not super strong but I’ll—”
“Mike.”
He peeked at you from between his fingers, half expecting you to tell him to shut the fuck up and get out. “…Yeah?”
“It’s okay,” You assured him, giving him a little squeeze with your hand that affected him more than he’d like to admit. “I’ll call you next time I need anything. I call you all the time anyway.”
He nodded, smiling a little and finally shutting up. Another natural silence blanketed you two, where it was just you and Mike and both of your pounding hearts.
“What were you going to say?” Mike spoke up abruptly, looking at you.
Oh, shit. You were hoping he’d forget.
“What d’you mean?” You played dumb, praying he’d drop it. He was not so merciful.
“Before,” he pressed, “when we started talking at the same time.”
“Oh, that,” you swallowed, “I just…it’s not really important.”
“Oh, come on! I just spent, like, a whole two minutes stumbling over myself. Whatever it is, you can’t top that.” He joked, nudging your shoulder.
“Don’t be so sure,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks start to grow hot.
“Just say it.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but it was firm. You weren’t getting out of this. Better rip off the band-aid and get the rejection over with, right? A deep breath in…and then out.
“We’re really close, right?”
Mike nodded, “Yeah…?”
“And, well, you’re, like, the biggest person in my life, okay?” You were struggling, but Mike’s heart was fluttering.
“You’re my best friend, and that’s great, but…”
“But?” His stomach sank. Oh, no.
“I’ve been wondering…if we…” The further you got, the harder it seemed to become to get the words out.
But you were wondering, and that alone was enough to make Mike jittery. He decided to stay silent and let you finish this time, whenever you were ready. And that meant the world to you. With a resolute exhale, you finally looked up at him.
“I was wondering if you’d ever stop being my friend. If—if one day, we could—we could be…more. Like…” you scrunched up your eyebrows, “together. Not friends. Just…romantically.”
It took a hot minute for Mike’s brain to buffer.
So long that you were sure you’d just ruined everything.
“Look, I’m sorry, just forget I ever said anything, I—”
“No,” Mike said suddenly, finally a living member of Earth again. “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. You—you have no idea…I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”
“The…same?” You couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah—God, I wish I could just explain it all to you—what you…just—” He seemed caught up in his words, and before you could react, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. He was a little clumsy, but he was soft and slow and sweet and it made all the air fly straight out of your lungs.
But your body recovered quicker than your mind did, and you were already kissing him back when you realized what was happening. Your hand laced fully with his, leaning into him and placing your free one on his cheek, tracing it gently.
You stayed like that, moving back and forth with the natural sync only best friends can achieve. When your lungs finally burned enough to pull away, Mike looked starstruck, like it was everything he’d ever imagined and more.
“I—sorry,” he smiled shyly, pressing the back of his hand to his lips to hide his blush.
You couldn’t help it. You reached over, brushed away the lip gloss on his cheek, and used his own words against him:
“Don’t be sorry.”
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! I realized this would be my 300th post (holy yapper) so I wanted to make it special for y'all! I tried so hard to get all the color text to be uniform, but there might be some blocks of black letters here and there after I post this. If there are, I'm so sorry, I'm tweaking so hard rn 😭 Also I don't know why I have an obsession with writing about Valentine's Day lmfao 😛 Anyways requests are open, so go ahead and gimme your ideas if you have any! Thank you to @feimingo, @lobster-graphics, and @lil-liaa for these gorgeous dividers, and thank you for reading!
-DMIS
© DMIS 2026, all rights reserved. Do not copy or translate my works without express permission. None of my works may be stolen, used anywhere without my knowledge or consent, or used to train or develop AI.
