Eleven had been the first to notice.

It started with a shuffle behind the curtains. The flutter of fabric and figures moving that caught her eye - which then, in turn, transformed the voices of her friends into white noise - and squinting, she could make out the looming outline of her father. His hand was positioned through his greying hair (a tell-tale sign of his frustration) and on the periphery of the window were arms motioning (anger, that's what it was) with fingers pointing in what she assumed was accusation.

That was when she had an inkling that something was happening. It's over, she thought, failing to communicate that in the two-way link she maintained with the almost-man that was her boyfriend.

Her fingers had dug into his arm, and it was the weight of her voice calling his name that quieted the group. His muscles stiffened under her touch.

Then the door flew open, and that was when she knew for certain: her inkling was right.

It was over.

"Karen, wait -"

"Don't you dare," she spat, spinning around on the tip of her heels. Ashy brown curls swung in the air like whips, and her eyes - rich and dark, her son's a spitting image - glassy and incensed. "Don't you dare, Joyce."

The moment was mother to mother, and it was saturated with love, and anguish, and that instinct etched into their very being to protect.

Everyone heard. Not everyone kept quiet.

"Mom," Mike stepped forward, meeting some resistance with El's reluctance to relinquish his arm (fueled by the very same instinct,protect) yet he didn't let that stop him. His friends were rightfully mute. Will was the only other one who dared move his feet, ready to be at his mother's side to defend her from a potential vocal onslaught.

It never came.

Perhaps the sound of her son's voice was to thank for keeping her somewhat grounded, because Karen Wheeler had many things to say but none of them were said - despite the quiver of her lips, the flare of her nostrils, the need to scream and shout and shake the shoulders of someone she thought as a friend. Their audience was the children of the story she'd been told (sans Nancy, and Jonathan) and she couldn't lose it in front of them.

Joyce was bone-still at the threshold of the house. Hopper wasn't far behind, acting as a towering safeguard over the small woman.

Karen swallowed thickly, straightened, and smoothed the wrinkles of her cardigan.

He tried again. "Mom, please, I know it's -"

"Get in the car."

Mike knew that tone. It wasn't his request. Defiance was his knee-jerk reaction, up until she turned to him - seeing her poorly mask the hurt on her face subdued him. The guilt gnawed him raw.

And it made him feel like shit. This was his mother. He hated seeing her this way.

She needs you.

He looked to El, the height difference forcing his gaze downward. You need her too, she added without moving her lips.

"Michael."

"I think they're, um." Dustin knew he shouldn't have opened his mouth, although it didn't change the fact that he did and the pressure he felt under Mrs. Wheeler's blazing stare made him want to shrink back into his shirt like a turtle. "I think they're talking."

Lucas and Max, in a beautiful display of how in sync their relationship could be when things were going smoothly, both whacked him on each arm. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Excuse me?" Karen asked, incredulous.

You can do this. I'll wait for you tonight.

"I'll explain what he means later," Mike voiced before anything else slipped. El let him go, but not before he brought her hand up to kiss - a subtle gesture, yet powerful. That fear and disquietude that had been festering dissolved. It had to. "I'm coming. See you guys tomorrow, yeah? Don't even bother fighting over my fries. El's got dibs."

No one dared to even pretend they were disappointed. They all felt awkward; he, on one hand, had an air of confidence that implied he had his shit together or was at least really fucking good at pretending he did. That was the Mike Wheeler way of handling unorthodox situations, along with a brave face and sheer stubbornness.

Karen didn't stray from path towards the car. He met here there, holding the door open for her and closing it after she was tucked in and buckled. Neither of them looked at anyone.

(She could hardly look at him.)

They disappeared into the road. A breath of air was collectively exhaled among the group. Will went to his mother, and Hopper to his daughter. The strong whiff of smoke and tobacco, plus the sound of heavy steps, gave his presence away.

El felt like she knew the answer to the question, but she whispered it anyway. "Don't lie. How did it go in there?"

"Eh." He knew better than to sugarcoat. "Could have been worse."

It could always be worse.

The car ride home was silent.

Mike didn't bother with the radio. Small talk was obviously out of the question. His mother still refused to meet his eyes - falsely captivated by the sight of trees out the window, the earthy colors blurring together - and he couldn't take it anymore, knuckles bulging from how tightly he was grabbing the steering wheel.

So he asked a stupid question. "Are you okay?"

How else was he supposed to start?

Karen snorted (almost a laugh, almost a sob) and bit her thumb like she was suppressing unbearable pain.

His throat tightened.

"What the fuck, Michael?"

And he wasn't expecting that.

It wasn't as if Karen Wheeler was incapable of cursing, no, that wasn't it - he'd heard her slip before, always apologetic or under the assumption her children weren't around to overhear. Before, though, she didn't know what she knew now, and Mike realized more than most that what the fuck was a pretty reasonable and human way to react to everything.

"Not to be a smartass but," he winced, "was that an actual question…?"

"Think about your answer." Mom-tone, even through the sniffling and wiping of her eyes, careful not to make an inky mess with her mascara. "And answer me when we get home."

He got the hint.

She wasn't ready. Mike didn't have the certainty to say he was, either, despite all his attempts to prepare himself. He rehearsed the words over and over, cycling through the different scenarios, each where he explained and justified his actions over the years. He still struggled with it.

When they arrived at the house, Karen let her emotions show through the fine art of slamming things. The car door, the front door, her purse on the table, the cabinets in the kitchen up until she found one with treasured wine she effortlessly uncorked. He was only steps behind her, watching.

Holly wasn't home. His father wasn't either. The note on the fridge with childish scrawl let them know she was a couple houses down with the infamous Erica Sinclair, and the blinking light on the phone had been a message from Ted Wheeler himself - late night at the office, don't wait up for me.

"Well?"

She didn't look too angry; more like upset, in a morose way. She was bleary-eyed with pink nose, swirling the Chardonnay in her glass and debating whether she wanted to daintily sip or thirstily chug.

Hands pocketed, he leaned against the kitchen counter. "Well?"

"Your answer. Have you thought about it?"

"I mean…" Mike sighed, knocking his head back. "I've always kind of thought about how I'd answer you? If you ever found out about everything. I thought about it more over the past week and, honestly, I don't know, mom. I'm just...sorry."

One of her finely groomed brows rose. "Sorry?"

"For lying," he clarified with an awkward shrug. "As a rule I don't like doing it, except this was kind of a necessary thing. Keeping secrets. Making up cover stories. I'm never going to regret doing what I can to keep her safe, but I'm sorry that what we kept from you hurt you."

"Michael, I'm -" Karen sucked in a shaky breath of air, setting the glass down to cover her face and think. There were so many things to address (her, for one thing), so many more questions she had to ask, but they had to take it one step at a time. "There's a part of me that understands, as crazy as it all is. And the other part is hurt, but I'm hurt because you're my son and I want to protect you and your sisters and I wasn't able to. You and Nancy went through so much and I didn't know enough to be there for you."

She cried then. She tried not to, but her shoulders shuddered and her whimpers were muffled into her hands and it lasted for all two seconds before she collected herself. It was the Karen Wheeler way of handling unorthodox situations - trying her best to pretend like she had her shit together for the sake of everyone else. He had gotten that from her.

Mike's throat felt tight again. This time there was a knot lodged in it, one he couldn't rid himself of.

"I feel like I still don't know," she carried on, finding a tissue to wipe the salty wet mess of her face, mascara be damned. "They told me - well, they told me many things - but I'm done with their version. I want to hear it from you."

(And one day from Nancy, because her daughter had to help cover up the actual cause of death for her best friend and went through it all too, good fucking god.)

You can talk to me. She had tried to get him to for so long, and for the first time in forever he felt like he actually could.

"Yeah," he nodded, finding his conviction again. "Yeah. Okay. Let's sit down?"

They sat across from one another at the dinner table, and he thought of the night that led them to this - when he announced his plans with El, and the reaction it yielded from his mother. Her tears had been from all the secrecy and necessary lies. Now, they were because she knew and struggled to wrap her mind around it.

Karen brought the bottle of wine with her. He bit his tongue about it, not at all fond how it had become a common occurrence seeing her with a glass at least once throughout the days (except he also couldn't argue against the cause of it). "I'm listening," she gestured before letting her hands fall to her lap. "All you have to do is talk. Pick where you want to start."

He mulled it over. He had an idea of the explanation she wanted.

"We found her in the rain," Mike began, remembering back to that day. It was cold and they'd been, drenched, her most of all; buzz-cut hair, scared, the flashlight shining over her face. "We did our own search for Will when he went missing but we found her instead. All alone in the woods, no shoes. Just this huge t-shirt from Benny's. He found her first, you know. Until they showed up looking for her. She saw them kill him."

All because the man dared to be a good human being, trying to help a damn kid. Another dead person at their hands, and his death covered up to hide the truth.

"The guys thought the whole thing was fishy and wanted to leave her there, but she was freezing and it looked like she needed help. I gave her my coat, brought her home, we thought she was mute but that…" He shook his head. "That wasn't it. The asshole that raised her in a lab controlled what he taught her, so her speech was kind of limited and I had to explain to her what a friend was. I don't know if you've ever seen it but she's got a tattoo on her wrist, right here."

His finger tapped right above his pulse.

"The number eleven. That's what she said her name was. I nicknamed her El for short. Jane's her birth name - um, Hopper told you everything about her mom, right? Everyone else knows her as Jane but she's totally cool with us calling her El."

(Not long ago she had told him it was one of the best things he'd ever given her; that name. She would always be more El than she was ever Jane, or Eleven.)

"The supposed miscarriage, and the experiments she underwent during her pregnancy," Karen nodded dazedly, recalling the explanation and the feeling of having been sick to her stomach. "Those experiments, that's what made - ?"

She couldn't say it. It didn't feel real, honestly, the whole concept of it, but it had been a prominent theme in the tale of events. Powers. Dimensions, and monsters. Government personnel hiding some terrible secret was one thing. The rest was straight out of the comics and movies her son loved so much. Pure fiction, imaginative nonsense.

Thinking about it made her pour another drink.

Mike wasn't afraid to call it what it was. "Made El telekinetic? Yeah, and Ms. Terry's got some abilities to a degree. I know there's one other out there, but El's kind of power is…"

Terrifying, was what she thought.

"Awesome," was what he said instead, breathing the word out in what could only be admiration. "I mean, she can do more than move things in her mind. She can find people, mom."

"And open...doors to another world? Full of... things?"

It was evident in her voice - the skepticism and fear. Mike wasn't naive. He heard the hint of blame too, and his hands curled into a fists over the table. "That wasn't her fault," he defended, jaw ticking. "Dr. Shithead forced her to make contact with something on the other side when she didn't want to and trust me, she still blames herself for it."

He knew she needed time. It was a logical assumption. Expecting her to immediately embrace every detail down to the last, gory bit wasn't fair. Things were happening, things were changing - but there were points he wanted to clarify, and others he wanted to emphasize.

It involved honesty. Unfiltered, irrepressible, heartfelt honesty.

"She saved us," he continued after a pause, having tested the lapse in conversation to see if she would retaliate in some way. She hadn't. Guess she meant what she said, wanting to listen. "El did. A lot, actually. Saved me from literally falling off a cliff, flipped a van over our heads when it was coming right at us with no intention to even stop. Saved us from government agents pointing guns at us, and she saved us from the monster. The Demogorgon."

Mike plucked at his watch. It was the same one from that very time, only just a couple notches wider to accommodate his grown wrist.

Black ash falling like snow. Its screams, her screams. Obviously, she survived. But her willingness to sacrifice it all, go toe to toe with a monster not only once but twice - it stuck with him, and the love he had for her was equal to the fear he carried of losing her because of that.

There was a change in his face that didn't go unnoticed. Karen pushed the bottle and glass aside, reaching across the table for his hand. He let her hold it, feeling a little silly. Kind of like a kid again.

"She disappeared that night. Lucas and Dustin were always afraid to say it, but I knew what they thought. That she died protecting us. I couldn't think that. That would mean giving up on her and I...couldn't. I couldn't do it. I promised her too much."

The Snow Ball. A home. A bed of her own, actual food (funny that she had all that now and still preferred frozen waffles). Back then he was naive, and thought that after everything was done his family would take her in and it would be okay. It didn't take him long to learn that it wasn't that easy. It would never be that easy.

"After that, well…"

He hadn't been the same. How could he? Karen knew the following year had been difficult. His moods were awry, his rebellion uncharacteristic, and she had chalked it up to the stress of Will's disappearance and the insistent questioning of authorities. That barely scratched the surface - the god awful truth was buried deep, and proved to be darker than her wildest suspicions.

Her heart broke for her children. Furiously.

"She used to sleep in that fort. It's why I didn't want you to take it down," Mike confessed. "She can alter waves with her mind. It was how she showed us Will was alive, by channeling his voice through the supercomm. And I thought that if I spoke into it on an empty channel she'd hear me, and she'd tell me if she was there. If she was okay. I tried every night for a year and, uh, that's...not an exaggeration. I reached out for her for three hundred and fifty three days. I kept count."

"Michael -"

"She did, too. She listened. Every night, mom." It wasn't some fleeting high school romance with an expiration date. It wasn't something that was going to fizzle with college in the horizon, and he'd never just grow out of his feelings. "I saw her for the first time again when Mrs. Byers' house was surrounded. She came to save us, and saved us again when she faced another monster and closed the Gate. Except that time she came back, has been with us since and I'm not losing her again."

One could argue he probably shared too much there, but the list of all fucks he gave was purely non-existent - she wanted to know, and he needed her to know.

El wasn't going anywhere.

Karen released his hand, palms sweaty as she withdrew to hide her trembling mouth. On the opposite end, Mike stopped talking. Saying more would only overwhelm her. She was already overloaded, and he didn't want her polishing off the rest of that alcoholic grape juice in one sit.

"You love her."

"I've established that, yeah. It's not up for debate."

He was always so defensive when Jane (should she call her El?) was brought up, although she supposed she could see why now. "I'm not trying to debate anything," she sighed, keeping her calm. "You know that a future with her will be difficult, right?"

Wanting what was best for her kids wasn't a crime. It was a mother's natural wish for them to be happy, healthy and most importantly,safe. Despite all the love Michael had for the girl he pulled from the rain, Karen didn't see still waters and smooth sailing for their relationship - not unless the ties that bound them were cut and now she knew for sure it wasn't happening.

It was a concoction of conflicting feelings all starting with how proud she was of her son. He was strong, selfless, empathetic; he'd do anything for his friends, and loved powerfully without a lick of shame. In place of the little boy that fit perfectly in her arms was a man so certain of what and who he wanted.

But she was petrified of what that decision would do to him.

Mike shrugged a shoulder. "Like it hasn't been difficult since the very beginning? I know what I've gotten myself into. Just because things can get hard doesn't mean it's not worth it, and she's always going to be worth it."

That was the end of that. Karen wouldn't press on. She was too afraid of coming off as antagonistic, and the last thing she needed was unintentionally igniting a fight. She didn't have the fortitude for it. In the end it wasn't even about her - it was about Mike, and how everything that happened changed him.

Nodding numbly, she met the bottom of the glass with a final gulp. "One last question for the day."

"Yeah, of course," he blinked and scooted his chair closer into the table. "Anything."

"What did Dustin mean earlier?" It hadn't been a priority to discuss but she didn't just forget, either.

"Oh. That."

"Yes, that." Her frown deepened. "What's with that face? Is it something that's bad -"

"No, no," he quickly corrected, waving his hands sheepishly. "It's not bad. It's just a small detail. Everyone kind of teases us about it, and sometimes we don't notice that other people notice, so…" Mike tapped the side of his head. "It's nothing harmful to either of us. We're, um, connected."

"What?"

"Telepathically, I guess? When we're close we can project thoughts to each other and, I don't know, it happened over time. I think it started when she was gone for that year and listened to me anyway." Mike had thought he was losing his mind, thinking he could feel her. Turns out that feeling had been validated and the entire time it was her, and the link only strengthened with time. "It's pretty cool."

"Oddly," Karen spoke after a moment, bursting into a small, mirthless laugh with a hint of distress, "that's not the craziest thing I've heard today."

There was a drizzle that carried into the late night, the mist a ghostly blanket outdoors and cooling the walls. Sleep wouldn't come for her, not until her walkie-talkie crackled to life and the voice she awaited made himself known on the other side.

In effort to ignore her struggling patience, Eleven found comfort through their landline phone, the cords so long she was able to pull the receiver into the sanctity of her itsy-bitsy bedroom and keep the door barely cracked. Hopper didn't mind. The television was his own mindless distraction.

(Sleep for him would maybe come once he heard an update from her kid's scrawny boyfriend. He worried, too.)

"Steve's planning to take me on a tour around his union this weekend," said the person at the other side of the phone. It was Max. The unease was skyrocketing through the roof - for some more than others - and she knew El needed the distraction so, really, who gave a shit about the time? "It's out in Terre Haute but he gave me a brochure and looks cool, I guess. It's work you can travel with."

"That welding stuff?" El's back was pressed against the headboard of her bed, dressed in gray sweatpants and a shirt that once had brighter colors. "I think you just want to learn how to use a blowtorch."

"What's your point, Hopper?" That smirk could be heard in the redhead's voice. "But whatever, it's just something to think about. Trade schools seem more about the hands on work and the pay's pretty good. If I went that path I'd have to pummel through the testosterone, though, because it's a maaaan's field."

"You pummel through testosterone on a daily basis," she chuckled, squishing the phone between her ear and shoulder. Her hands roamed free to flip through pages of a book. "It's just an option anyway, right? You're giving yourself the time to explore like you wanted."

"Yeah, and I told Lucas about it and he thinks I should check it out." Max must have been having a late night snack of some kind, El could hear the chewing. "It's the mobility of it that he's liking."

"For the long-distance thing?"

"The idea's gotten less scary, if you can believe it."

El curled a finger around the ringlet cord. "What's changed?"

"Well, he got over his well-tailored plans of the future being shaken up by yours truly." Lucas had a vision of how things would go, and Max had a reserve of festering insecurities and uncertainties that blew up into a shitshow of arguments and almost break-ups. Their relationship had endured slurs and outright hatred from those who'd be more than happy to spit on interracial couples, and while it had never been easy, they refused to let it wear them down. Letting distance do the trick seemed like giving up. "Everything that's happening puts it into perspective, too. I've got a new motto that I think is gonna work out."

"Go on."

"If you wanna be with someone, sometimes you gotta be prepared to fight to make it work. I think that's a pretty universal fact we could all relate to. I'm prepared to literally and metaphorically punch someone for Lucas."

"Don't act like you haven't done both already," El cooed. "You're so romantic when you want to be."

Hey.

"Shut up. Anyway, to avoid the bore of an introspective talk about feelings -"

Hey, pretty lady.

"- can we talk shit about those prom posters? Seriously. The Dirty Dancing theme's just going to be an excuse so people can screw with their clothes on the dance floor and impregnate each other."

Pay attention to me.

"Can you hold on for a minute?" As eloquent as Max's rant was beginning to sound, her attention was elsewhere - mainly towards the culprit responsible for the words invading her mind, his pale face a stark contrast from the darkness beyond her bedroom window.

El had eased off the bed to approach, phone receiver held by her fingers, and it was with a twitch of her head that the locks were undone and the glass slid up.

"What's up? Did Mike come through?"

The way he tossed one leg inside and slid his body in, all long-legged and lanky, was seamless; that was what you'd call years of mastering the practice of sneaking-into-your-girlfriend's-bedroom-while-trying-to-not-wake-up-her-cop-father.

"Um, sort of."

There was a moment of pause.

"He's at your window, isn't he?"

"Just got inside, actually."

"Woooow. He's so predictable I could gag. Okay, well, I'm gonna let you go so you guys can have your moment. See you lovebirds tomorrow. Try not to keep the chief up with your rambunctious lovemaking."

"We draw the line somewhere, Max."

"Do you, though?"

"Bye." The call ended.

Mike was damp. The sweatshirt he used for cover was immediately shed (next to the backpack he set onto the floor) and he went to shake off the faint wetness of his hair - giving him the rare sight of waves, a step below curls - but he was barely able to when he felt the loving impact of an embrace, arms circling around him tight.

His scent was of rain and forest, a hint of his personal soap in the mix, and she didn't think she would be ready to let him go that nightat all. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Mike replied, his hands smoothing up her arms and over her shoulders, up her neck and to playfully tease the the brunette bun knotted atop her head. Pretty lady, even when she was getting ready for bed and wearing an old pair of pajama sweats he'd outgrown forever ago. "Yeah, I'm okay. Sorry I didn't call ahead of time but I just...really wanted to see you."

"This is better than a call," she assured him. El would always prefer the entire package that accompanied the sound of his voice. "Does your mom know you're here…?"

"Only if she notices I'm gone," he shrugged.

A presence at the door caught their attention. In the past they'd pull apart, and he'd be trying to hide (or escape) and she'd be bound to the don't lie oath that got them both in trouble except this time, they stood their ground with no intention of covering anything up, or jumping out the window to avoid the paternal wrath of Jim Hopper.

The man wasn't mad when he poked his head in, per se, but there was a clear look of exasperation. "Ever heard of the door front door, Wheeler?"

"Would you have really let me in?"

"Any other night, no," he plainly admitted. "Special circumstance gives you a pass. Been waiting for you to call El, although I had a fifty-fifty bet with myself that you'd be sticking to your usual plan of attempting to enter undetected."

"...you say 'attempt' like I've actually never been successful."

"You act surprised at the chance that you haven't been," Hopper sneered. To say that making Michael Wheeler scowl and squirm uncomfortably never gave him a drop of joy would be a flat out lie. El rolled her eyes at them, gathering the phone and squeeze past her father to return it to its originally post. "How'd it go with your mom?"

She had come back in time for the answer to that question, mentally urging for him to get comfortable. Hopper didn't protest at the sight of him removing his waterlogged sneakers.

"She's got a lot to think about," sighed Mike, visibly drained. It had been a rough day. "We're definitely not done talking about it, and she's definitely not done with you or Mrs. Byers, but we can trust her. She just wants to be included in...stuff."

"Her being in the dark of all this is the main reason I'm sporting a brand new asshole today," he groused. But her request was fair, and expected, and he was relieved to see the kid didn't look like he was a total mess. "You two riding to school together?"

(Yes, he noticed the backpack on the ground and figured the intention was to have some kind of damn sleepover.)

"If you don't mind?" El piped up in a way all too familiar to the both of them; the small, hopeful voice and whiskey-colored eyes cute and begging. "We'll keep the door open."

Truth be told, she hadn't been the one to convince him. The credit went to the weary boy beside her, exhausted and coming off like a soggy stray seeking solace. The kid needed something to get him through it.

Or more accurately, some one.

"Don't skip school tomorrow," was what Hopper decided on. There had been a couple times he had spent the night in the past (all under very specific circumstances) but tonight was more for his sake than hers. "Don't be late, either. Bring her by the station after. El's got filing duty."

Mike offered a lazy salute. "Affirmative. Thanks, chief. For everything."

Talking to his mother, letting her yell at him - letting him stay, trusting him like this. It all went unspoken, yet Hopper knew. He nodded and let them be, leaving the door ajar. Keeping it completely open wasn't necessary. They needed a degree of privacy.

(Just enough, though. They might have plans to shack up, but this was still his house and they were still in high school.)

"You should change," she advised, rummaging through one of her drawers that had hand-me-down clothes from his wardrobe stashed inside. A few still fit him. "C'mon, take these."

"I love you," Mike expressed with a happy sigh, and closed the distance (the space between, the difference in height) to meet her lips. She tasted as sweet as maple syrup and felt like coming home - everything he needed, everything he craved. "I've told you that today, right?"

"You manage to tell me every day," El giggled gently, fingers dancing up his torso. They did circles on his chest, mapped out the contour of collarbone through the fabric, caressed the column of his throat, and felt the comfort of his pulse. "Love you too, Wanna lie in bed and try not to think about anything else?"

His groan was practically euphoric. "God, yes. "

While he swapped his daywear for more appropriate sleepwear, she cleared the bed of books and the one abandoned bottle of nail polish she lost interest in throughout the night. It was always better for Mike to take the side of the bed that allowed him the freedom of dangling. The mattress was twin-sized and the fit always tight, but she never needed much space to toss and turn.

El slid in first. He followed, and they settled side by side - he clutched the back of her shirt, and she cradled his head up against the softness of her bosom and boy, wouldn't that be the perfect spot to suffocate and die in?

"Mm," he murmured pleasantly. "You smell nice."

"Thanks. I showered."

Mike spat a laugh. It was authentic, empty of troubles and unease.

"What? I did."

Her nonchalant bluntness always seemed to amuse him. Most of the time it was unintentional, although she couldn't deny that she was pleased with the results. He had lifted his chin, revealing a crooked grin and glinting eyes, his crinkled hair framing the sharpness of his face.

Beautiful, she had come to learn through the years, was an adjective not typically directed at men yet she didn't care. No other word could describe him right now.

"It's just the way you said it," Mike replied, interrupting her thoughts. Since they were enveloped by the weight of her flower-printed quilt, he moved his hands - this time up her shirt, not over - for that skin to skin contact. Intimacy without the pursuit of 'funny business.' "I know it hasn't been forever since we've been like this, but -"

"- it still feels like forever," El finished for him and peppered kisses to his face; brows, dotted nose, cheekbones and lips. He made a tickled sound from the attention. "Mike?"

His grin had softened into a sleepy, dopey smile. Things might be total shit, but this moment definitely wasn't one of them. "Yeah?"

There was a soft impishness to her, with a cool sense of smugness that had his mind questioning.

"Make us late tomorrow."

Oh.

Ohhhhh.

Sleepiness interrupted, Mike's were wide open and he had to peek over his shoulder just to make sure there wasn't an enormous mass of grizzly Chief of Fucking Police eavesdropping near the cracked doorway.

Coast was clear.

"El Hopper," he began, voice extra hushed in case his worst dreams came true and the walls did, in fact, have ears. "Are you trying to seduce me into rebellion?"

"Not at this very moment," she quipped. "But I won't need to do much in the morning. Part of you wakes up a little... excited already."

"You're shameless. Insatiable."

"Like you aren't -"

He silenced her with a kiss, and it was only half-effective - because they both laughed against the other's mouth, trying to keep their volume contained.

That was the rest of their night.

It was kisses and lazy smiles, teases and caresses, warm cheeks and biting back yawns because they were too stubborn to end the moment. Then, the drizzle turned into soothing rainfall, and her voice tapered off into even breaths. Her lids shut and her body went peacefully slack against his own.

Mike, minutes away from his own slumber, was relieved to see it. Her typically turbulent sleeping pattern had worsened; he hated not being there when she struggled with it, and he hated knowing there wasn't much he could even do.

But he was there for the night, ready in case, and one day he'd be there every night.

Jim Hopper departed early in the morning.

He checked on them before he left, of course - the door remained slightly open, and when he peeked in they were swaddled in the blanket like a double-stuffed burrito, passed out in a way that almost, almost made him chuckle.

Mike at the edge of the bed with the threat of falling, except the arms of the daughter he could barely even see behind him seemed to be wrapped around his midsection in a subconscious attempt to keep him off the floor. What the hell is she even doing, spooning him?

Jesus christ, those two.

(They'd wake up. Eventually.)

When they did, they took their time. A little too much time, but they were all alone and relished taking advantage of an actual bed for once, not just the inside of his car.

Mike honored her request. They arrived at Hawkins High School late, hand in hand, bracing themselves for what would come at them next.