บท 29: 29. Paper Rose
She had never really considered art or drawing before she met Will. Sure, Mike would sketch some things sometime for a campaign when the world he was creating was getting too big to fit inside his head and she had a knack for doodling when she was bored, but it was Will who introduced her to the magic behind what can be created with just a piece of paper and a pencil.
His drawings were beautiful. She caught a glimpse of them every once and awhile, since a few of them were hanging on his fridge at home or tacked up in his room, but it wasn't until he presented the party with drawings portraying each of them as their D & D characters that she got to study one up close.
And wow, was he talented. When he hands her the drawing he did of Eleven the Mage, she gasps and can't tear her eyes away from it. The figure on the page is draped in a sleek black, flowing robe, the dress underneath a baby pink that matches the flowers in her long, silky brown hair. Her gaze is focused somewhere off in the distance, most likely on some enemy she's about to smite, her hand outstretched and she can feel the power radiating from this character.
And her face. She's reeling at how accurate Will drew her features and even though it sounds cliche, it truly is like looking in a mirror. Her eyes, her nose, her lips, even her jawline is perfect and she looks so...empowered and confident that she quickly forgets this is just a drawing. The girl on the page is both better than her and wonderfully, perfectly her at the same time and...she loves it.
The rest of the Party is buzzing excitedly around her, gushing about their own drawings, but she hears none of it as her head snaps up and her eyes lock with Will's. "Teach me to draw," she pleads.
And he does.
That was two years ago and now, several lessons, pointers and afternoon sketching sessions later, she's finally enrolled in her first art class in school. With a little persuading from Hopper and the Party, she managed to bypass Beginning Drawing and go straight to Advanced Drawing, a class that few get into. But as soon as the teacher saw the drawing she did recently of Castle Byers, he let her in without any dispute. Yes, she was that good.
Mike was so proud of her. He remembers the first few drawings she had done and while he didn't want to say they were bad, she definitely had...improved. By a LOT. She always had struggled to find things she was good at and with the Party constantly reassuring her that her talents didn't define who she was, she learned to be content with the skills she had been given.
But underneath her confidence, Mike could see that it still bugged her when she came in last place or created something that she deemed lesser as compared to everyone else's. Admittedly, he too held that same insecurity, but he was lucky enough to find the areas he was designed for. Science and stories, those were his creative avenues, the places his mind would escape to when it got tired of reality.
He was ecstatic that El had finally found hers and he told her so excessively. Every time she'd hand him her latest drawing, he'd gush about it, trying to find the words to express how talented she was and how proud he was of her. He'd end up rambling, but she didn't mind and would listen to him with the happiest smile on her face. Eventually, she'd silence him with a kiss when he'd start to run out of words, her drawing forgotten between them as she thanked him for his undying kindness and he returned her affections sincerely.
Aside from El getting in to her drawing class, the beginning of their junior year was...relatively uneventful. Just another year at Hawkins High, a place the Party had mastered by now.
Or so they thought.
Dustin's the first one to break the stunned silence when they're handed their schedules in their first period homeroom class. "We only get lunch together two times a week?"
"That's correct Mr. Henderson," their teacher calls from the front of the classroom. "Could I have your attention please? As you all know, Hawkins High is expanding rapidly, with more students than we've ever had and we're offering more classes this year as well. As such, we can't afford for the each grade to have their own lunch period anymore, due to the classes that must be during either fourth, fifth or sixth period. You have all been assigned the lunch period that works best with your schedule. However, we understand that you still want lunch with all your friends. Tuesdays and Thursdays have become block days, meaning you will only have four of your classes and they will all be an hour and a half long. You will get common lunch on those days, when the entire building goes on break for lunch."
El and Mike stopped listening the second she explained that they all had different lunch periods. Instead, they had taken to staring at their schedules in disbelief, their desks scooted as close to the other as possible. She reaches for his hand when they suddenly realize it at the same time.
They don't have a single period together this semester.
Not a single one.
"Mike-"
"We'll still see each other every day. I'll make sure of it. When I finally get the car next month, I'll pick you up every day for school and I'll take you home every afternoon." His thumb strokes her hand as he does everything he can to reassure her. "I-I can go talk to counseling, see if somehow I can drop my fifth period class and come have lunch with you-"
She cuts him off sharply. "Mike, you can't. You love physics, you can't drop that class." "But I love you even more," he replies and her stomach flips deliciously, her face heating up, no matter how many times she's heard it.
"We'll figure it out," she tells him determinedly. "We'll still spend every afternoon with the Party, right?" "Yeah, yeah of course. And maybe they'll even let us have a couple afternoons to ourselves," he suggests, a hopeful smile on his face and she nods in agreement. With calculated breaths, she lets the panic subside, knowing that there's nothing that could keep the two of them apart. If less time together during the school day means an extra amount of time together when they're finally free, then so be it.
Not seeing El for seven hours certainly was an adjustment. In a high school as small as theirs was, one would think they'd cross paths at least once, but no, somehow their schedules made it so they'd have to take a ridiculously inconvenient route to each of their classes in order to run into one another. Begrudgingly, they both agreed that it was better to avoid tardiness and stay out of detention then have their academic records destroyed their junior year just to see one another for a few seconds.
And so the school year began. Their homework load ramped up considerably and whispers of their future began to linger around the corners, but the Party stayed strong, supporting one another endlessly and the first few months sailed by relatively smoothly.
Mike sighs as he twists the dial on his locker, absentmindedly putting in his combo and opening it when he hears the click.
He wasn't going to pretend he was in the best mood today. It was a Wednesday, meaning he should've had lunch with El and the rest of his friends yesterday, but she had an English project due on Friday and she spent all of lunch, plus that afternoon working on it. He hadn't seen her in over twenty-four hours and, frankly, it sucked. He was able to talk to her over the phone for a little bit the previous night, but nothing beats the real, living, breathing El.
His mind wanders as he stores away the textbooks he won't be needing for the rest of the day, but he snaps back into reality when he takes his lunchbox out and a piece of paper flutters to the ground.
He examines it curiously, wondering how on earth it got there. He bends down to pick it up and when he flips it over, he can't help the ridiculously dopey grin that lights up his face instantly.
It's a rose. Sketched onto the ripped of corner of a piece of notebook paper is the best pencil drawing of a rose he's ever seen. Its petals are beautiful, blossoming from a well-shaded stem. His eyes trace it down the paper and his heart begins to beat widely when he sees her signature scrawled in the space underneath the stem.
"Love, El" it reads and he can't stop smiling as he feels his face heat up.
Has he mentioned he loves this girl?
Suddenly, an idea pops into his head and he grabs his own notebook from his locker before shutting it and heading to the AV room where he eats lunch alone everyday.
Once the door has been shut behind him, he plops down at the desk and clears a space for him to work. Taking out a pencil, he turns to a clean page and begins to draw. His art skills aren't anywhere close to rivaling El's, so he settles on cartoon flowers instead, making them big and extravagant, even throwing a little color in there too. When he's sketched out as many as he can, he pauses to eat his sandwich as he admires his handiwork, then glances around the room in search of a pair of scissors. The first pair he finds happens to be lying by a ball of string they keep in here just in case they need to fix something with it.
'Perfect,' he thinks, and sets about cutting out all the flowers he's drawn. Glancing at the clock, he sees there isn't much time left in his lunch period, so he hurriedly finishes cutting the last ones and when he's done, he arranges them in a makeshift bouquet. Picking up the rose she made for him, he places it in the center and ties a piece of string around their stems, securing them all together.
'Love, Mike' he writes below one of the flowers he drew and places a kiss on it, just for luck.
He doesn't have time to slip it into her locker as he rushes to his seventh period, so he resolves to put it there the next day, since he passes by her locker between third and fourth period. Hypothetically, he could just give it to her after school today, but where's the fun in that?
The following day, he quickly unlocks her locker and, making sure she isn't around, places the paper bouquet inside. He isn't anticipating some big reaction from her because of it, he just wants her to know that he's thinking of her and he cares for her.
He's more confused than anything when he opens his locker a few periods later and sees a drawing of an Eggo lying on top of his notebooks. "Thank you for the flowers," is written on the back and he almost laughs out loud when he realizes she's showing her gratitude with an Eggo.
He likes this. He likes giving her little gifts in the middle of the day and getting her reply in return. Even though they're not face-to-face, it's fun to keep in contact with her during the long school day.
He could've just kept the Eggo and mentioned it to her after school. But he's not ready for this to be over quite yet.
So he spends his lunch doodling a bunch of the toaster waffles she loves so much, attaching them to hand drawn sticks and arranging them to create a bouquet out of Eggos, a heart drawn on the back of every one of them.
It's one of the best things he's ever created, if he does say so himself.
He repeats his actions from the previous day, purposefully avoiding mentioning what she had drawn for him when he sees her that afternoon and slips the bouquet into her locker after third period, smiling as he does so.
And thus started a pattern that made his days a million times better. When he went to pick up his lunch, she'd have a new drawing for him every day, even on days they saw each other during lunch. He'd spend his free period making something to give to her in return, whether it was physically adding onto the picture, an extra addition to make her smile, writing a poem about what she had created or just simply leaving her a note saying how amazing her drawings were becoming, making sure to remind her every time that he loves her and he's proud of her.
Funny thing is, they never spoke a word about it to one another. It's almost as if they were daring each other to speak first, see who could beat the other in the "Paper Wars" as he'd dubbed it for himself. The first one to acknowledge that it was happening lost and if losing meant that this ended...well, he intended to pretend it didn't exist until the end of time if he had to.
Her drawings ranged anywhere from animals to human faces to random objects she saw in her classroom and he enjoyed finding new things to add to them. He returned a horse she drew with a sketch of the two of them riding it off into the sunset, wrote a free verse poem about the drawing of a lake that she did, attempted to draw a hand intertwining with the one she had sketched out (that failed miserably and after several exchanged notes that consisted of her teasing him over how bad it was, he dared her to try it herself. Which she did. And blew him away), the list goes on and on.
It was jarring to find a very detailed, intense drawing of the Demogorgon resting in his locker one day, about a month after the Paper Wars started. He chose not to reply to it, only stuffing it in his backpack hastily before anyone could see and making a mental note to ask her about it later. He didn't even care if it meant he finally lost, he knew she wouldn't put that in his locker without a reason. That time in their lives was scarring to all of them and there had to be an explanation for her choosing to draw out one of her demons.
"Are you okay?" he asks her quietly as they sit in the Hawkins High parking lot after school in his car. Rain streams down the windows, plinking on the roof of the car, but they aren't in a hurry to get anywhere. His keys sit unturned in the ignition as he watches her face closely, sensing something was up. Her backpack sits in her lap and she rests her chin on it, staring at the dashboard, her lips turned down just the slightest bit.
"I haven't had a dream about...about that night in so long," she begins, murmuring quietly, only speaking loud enough to be heard over the rain. His fingers are tangled with hers in an instant and he allows the silence to settle as he watches her chase her thoughts around in her head. When she lands on something she doesn't like, her face begins to crinkle up, but he quickly squeezes her hand to bring her back to the present.
"El, it's over," he tells her gently. "You did it. It's dead. We don't have to worry about that part of our lives anymore." The hand that's not clasping his starts to fiddle with her backpack straps as she nods half heartedly.
"But Mike...I almost...you could've..." she pauses, scrambling for the words, her breathing starting to kick up and as soon as he sees this, he quickly puts a finger under her chin and guides her gaze to his. "A lot of things could've happened that night. Trust me, I know. But the only thing that matters is you made it. You survived, El. I survived, thanks to you. We're all okay now, and you have to focus on that, not the hypothetical things that could've happened."
It seems to do the trick and she nods as she lets out the breath that she'd seemed to be holding. "Let's just go home," she mumbles, gripping his hand tighter.
He drives them to his house with one hand on the steering wheel and the other entwined with hers. He's still a little worried that he hadn't caught onto her solemn demeanor until she'd given him that drawing, but he trusts her and is glad she said something about it eventually.
Speaking of the drawing, it occurs to him that they never directly mentioned it. It was implied, but it was never acknowledged. Which meant...the Paper Wars were still on.
He had a pile of her drawings in his locker by now and he was happy that it continued to grow every day, as did the stack in hers. Her sketches began to get more complex as time went on and sometimes, he'd have to wait a whole week to see what she'd been working on, giving him more time to craft a response worthy of what she had created.
Which is why, when he didn't get anything from her for a couple days, he wasn't concerned at all. A week went by and he eagerly awaited what was to come, knowing her next drawing had to be coming soon.
Except, it didn't. And he didn't receive anything the next week either. By the third week, he was extremely tempted to just ask her about it, using the rationale that he must've already won if she stopped doing it, but just in case, he held back, waiting patiently for her to break their standstill.
It ended up paying off, because on the Wednesday of the fourth week, he opened his locker to see a brand new sheet of paper lying on his textbooks. He pulls it out eagerly and when he flips it over, he can't help the gasp that escapes him or the tears that instantly clog his throat.
She had been drawing him. She took the time to draw his face and it's the best, most detailed portrait she's ever done. His heart explodes with affection and pride for his girl and he can't stop staring at it, marveling at just how intricate and beautiful it was. Somehow, with just a pencil, she managed to put an emotion on his face that he's only ever seen on hers and it makes him want to weep just looking at it.
He hastily gathers up his lunch and her drawing, swinging his backpack onto his back as he does so. When he arrives at the AV room, he quickly shuts the door, plops himself down at a table, opens his notebook and lets whatever his mind wants to say spill out onto the page, his heart fluttering madly as he does so.
"Dear El," He writes.
"Once upon a time, a boy and a girl happened to be in the woods on a stormy night, one searching and one fleeing.
Though this was no happenstance. Unbeknownst to both of them, their very souls were intertwined, bound together by a ribbon, a ribbon that was tired of being stretched so far. Aching for the other person, it tugged and tugged and tugged, until the two ends met as rain poured down around them.
And in an instant, the boy was hers. And she, his. Completely and irrevocably. Just like it always was meant to be.
Four years later, the girl drew the boy. She drew him in a way that no mirror, no reflection could ever express.
She drew him when he's looking at her. She drew him in undeniable love.
She drew the hair that he's been growing out especially for her, letting it curl at the ends just so they match. He loves her hair, even more so when her curls twirl around his own when they're close enough, further proving they were meant to be together.
She drew his ears, barely poking through that mop of hair, that love nothing more than the sound of her voice. They await it eagerly, anxiously, restless until he hears her sweet voice once more and he can finally breathe again.
She drew his freckles, the ones she has a strange fascination with. Before he was Frog Face, he was Freckle Boy and he used to bitterly joke with himself that God had given him a freckle for every insecurity he held. Now, she once said that he has a freckle for every time he's told her he loves her. "But that number is countless," he insisted. "Exactly," she murmured as she once again failed to count them all.
She drew his cheeks all round and soft and he knows if it were in color, he'd be blushing. It's rare that he can do anything but when she looks at him. Her eyes send a spark to his soul, lighting him up in ways he can't describe and he never minds it when he feels his cheeks flush, because he knows that it makes her happy.
She drew his lips and he laughed when he saw they were a little more puffy than usual. Of course this is the look he gives her right after a kiss. He's so enamored with her that his mind blanks out every time their lips meet and he can't do anything but stare at her lovingly as his stomach does flips over and over again.
And finally, she drew his eyes. And in them, he sees the same emotion he sees in hers everyday. His heart beats wildly in his gaze, all vulnerable and open, because only she can tear down his walls like that. He sees everything displayed in his own eyes and he prays she can see it too.
And as for him? He wrote this. He wrote this so she would know that he's all hers, every inch. She's rendered him hopelessly smitten and he wants her to know that the love that shines on his face is all for her. He doesn't look at anyone else like that, because he doesn't love anyone else the way he so desperately loves her.
You're incredible, El.
Love, Mike."
He sets his pencil down, his chest heaving with a big sigh as he looks over his work, relieved that the words he urgently needed to say to her were out on a page. He smiles despite himself and quickly wipes away the few emotional tears that escaped him as he wrote out something that resembled only a fraction of his feelings for her.
He doesn't want to wait until tomorrow to give this to her, so he takes the risk of being late, making his way across the school and carefully slipping both the drawing and his writing into her locker.
The rest of the school day drags on slower than he would've liked and he doesn't have it in him to focus during his last few classes. He still can't get over what she had created for him and he's more than willing to lose the Paper Wars if it means thanking her in person.
When the bell finally rings, he hurriedly walks down the hallways and heads outside, taking his spot by the entrance where he always meets her after school. He bounces on his toes anxiously, watching the flow of students pour out of the doors, looking for a head of eccentric brown curls. The crowd is starting to thin out and he's considering going in to find her himself when she suddenly comes bursting through the doors and his only warning is a choked call of his name, before she's running towards him. He gathers her up in his arms, grinning as she buries her face in his neck, holding on tightly to him and her body shakes as she sobs softly. Dropping a kiss against her shoulder, he leans his head against hers and grips her tenderly, rocking her slightly from side to side.
"M-Mike, I love you s-so much," she tells him, her words tripping over her tears and dripping with emotion. "I d-don't know what I did to deserve you, your letter-" She's cut off by a sob that forces its way up her throat and he rubs her back lovingly as he waits for her to finish. "Your letter was b-beautiful."
He pulls back just enough so he can meet her eyes, which are sparkling with passion and emotion. "You do deserve it El. You deserve every single inch of my love for you. I'm the one who doesn't deserve you, you're perfect," he tells her.
She's shaking her head before he's even finished. "You're wrong. You're wrong," she whispers over and over again, her shoulders continuing to shake as she tilts her head to press her lips against his with a whimper. He sighs into their kiss, relishing in the softness of her lips and pulling as close as he can, feeling himself fall farther and farther into everything that she is.
He has no doubt that the dopey grin on his face when she slowly pulls back matches the one she drew and when he meets her eyes, he's convinced he'll never be able to look away.
After much lighthearted debating, he ended up persuading her to keep both her portrait and his letter. "I want you to know that I'm thinking about you whenever you look at it," he told her. "You deserve to be looked at the way I look at you and I don't want you to forget that."
Unbeknownst to him, she'd always secretly wished she could take a picture of the serene moment after they kissed and while their friends found it a little creepy, it now hangs proudly in her room, sending butterflies through her stomach every time she meets his pencil-drawn gaze.
A/N: Hello wonderful people! I am completely out of ideas. I usually have a few one shots planned out in advance as I'm writing each one, but this was the last one shot I had planned out and I have no idea where to go from here. If you have an prompt requests or Mileven scenarios you want to see, please let me know, I am totally open to suggestions! Thank you!
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