A/N: Before everything else - this was inspired by a Harry Potter fanfic called "Adorable Violence" by Cloud Zen.
"Would you care to explain what just happened?" Mike asked, his arms crossed.
They were currently in an empty alley, as Mike had pulled them both out of the restaurant they were supposed to be eating in. In their wake, was a trail of maple syrup that seemed to emanate from Mike's syrup-soaked shirt.
Eleven looked down, avoiding his gaze. "I—uhm…" she stammered, not really wanting to admit it, despite the prospects being as clear as day.
"Well?" Mike pressed on.
A few moments earlier…
"So, what do you wanna eat?" Mike asked her, squinting his eyes as he looked at restaurant's menu.
It was just after school, and all the parents were cooped up in some adult-related seminar in the Hawkins High School auditorium. The kids were left to fend for themselves for the next two hours or so. Lucas, Will, Dustin, and Max has decided to spend the time in the arcade, but Eleven had insisted that they eat something first before joining them.
Of course, Mike agreed. He couldn't say no to her, after all.
Eleven's lips pursed at his question, her brows crinkling in deep thought, before she answered, "Eggos."
Mike looked up from the menu, looking at her incredulously for a moment, but then he shook his head and shrugged. "Right, didn't have to ask you to know that." A small smile made its way to his face.
She beamed, smiling back at him.
"Give me a few more moments to, uh, decide," he said, shifting his eyes to look in the menu again.
Eleven turned her head to look out the window, taking in the view of a regular day in Hawkins. It never ceased to amaze her just how bright the town was. Even when something incredibly mundane was happening—like someone walking a dog—she watched with rapt attention.
"Maybe I'll get the chicken & waffles…" she heard Mike mumble. She turned back to face him, and he nodded to himself. "Yeah, that'll do."
He raised his hand to call the attention of a waiter hovering nearby.
"What do you want?" the waiter asked, chewing gum. He looked bored and very irritated.
"Uh, an order of waffles—Eggos—and an order of chicken & waffles," he answered, not really minding the waiter's irritable state.
The waiter only nodded, not bothering to answer, as he scrawled down their order on the pad he was holding. "Waffles and chicken & waffles," he repeated. Mike nodded. "Right, okay." He tucked the pad in his packet and walked away.
After a few moments, Mike turned to Eleven. "What did you do today?"
"TV," she answered, a smile curving her lips. "Annie and Tony have con-sum-mated their marriage." Her smile grew wider when she succeeded in telling the rather complicated word. She still struggled with big words, but she was improving.
Mike blinked, knowing what that means, but figuring she didn't really know what it means, so he just decided to play along. That was, anyway, a talk for another time.
"It amazes me how you manage to watch those shows," he said, chuckling.
"It's… nice," she argued, albeit mockingly. She smirked. "Better than Star Wars."
Mike gasped. "Hey!"
Eleven laughed at his expression, which suddenly contorted into a look of blatant shock and disbelief at her statement. She liked to occasionally tease Star Wars to see his reaction. It made her feel fuzzy and warm.
"Take that back!" he yelled in mild offense.
She laughed again, instinctively raising her arm to run her hand over his cheeks. "Okay," she said, smiling. She couldn't but smile.
Mike's face went from shock to flustered as soon as her hand touched his face. She always did that whenever she teased him.
In a moment of sheer boldness, she pinched his cheek—which she immediately regretted, withdrawing her hand and tucking her arms back to her sides. She looked down, avoiding his gaze, and stammered, "S-Sorry…" with a voice laced with shame.
He stared at her for a moment as he felt a blush crawl up his face. His hand made its way to where she pinched him. "El," he said calmly, getting her attention.
"Y-Yes?" she responded, peering up at him shyly.
He couldn't control the smile that made its way to his face. "Why'd you do that?"
"Uhm…" she trailed off.
Mike raised his brows expectantly. "Well?"
She bit her lip, hesitating, before she mumbled out a word so quietly that Mike didn't hear.
"What was that?"
"Pretty," she blurted out, clearer.
Mike stared at her, stunned. He opened his mouth, before closing it again, like a fish.
"You're pretty," she repeated, more determined.
Mike blinked, his face turning red—Eleven was once again overwhelmed with the need to pinch his cheeks—before he stammered, "Oh—uh—well, yeah, I guess a boy could be pretty, too." He smiled at her. He then raised his hand to lightly pinch her cheek. "But you're a lot prettier than me."
It was now Eleven who was blushing.
Then their food arrived, knocking them both out of their shared reverie.
"Alright, here's the chicken & waffles—" the waiter placed a plate in front of Mike "—and an order of waffles."
El's plate of waffles landed with a thud in front of her, and she reached over the bottle of maple syrup at the end of their table. She found it rather enlightening that maple syrup seemed like a staple in this restaurant, as every table had a bottle of it, beside the ketchup.
"That'll be twelve bucks," the waiter said, facing Mike. "With tip, of course."
Eleven's nose crinkled. "After?" she asked the waiter.
The waiter turned towards her. "Sorry, madame, my shift ends in ten minutes and I need to bill at least twenty-five tables before it ends," he said.
Mike shrugged and handed him the money. The waiter sauntered off.
"Dig in," Mike declared, already starting to slice into his chicken.
Eleven was already about to pour in the maple syrup onto her plate, when she abruptly stopped.
Her right brow twitched.
Mike, noticing that Eleven had not started eating, looked up at her curiously. "What?" he asked. She didn't move to respond, only stared at her plate with a look that seemed like it had spewed something worse than offensive at her (and it probably did).
Mike sighed, leaning over to look at whatever was on her plate—and he stopped.
The waffles were square.
Now, there isn't anything wrong with square waffles. In essence, whatever shape it may be, waffles would remain a well-loved breakfast food. Except for Eleven. Definitely. For her, it was Eggo waffles that reigned over all breakfast food—or all food, for that matter, and any defiance towards it would only bring terror—and Eggos didn't come in square.
"Mike," hissed Eleven, finally looking up from her plate. She slammed the bottle of maple syrup onto the table—which made Mike gulp, pulling it closer to his side of the table as to avoid any further damage towards it.
"Yes, yes, I know," said Mike, already raising his hand to call a waiter.
Soon enough, a waiter sauntered over their table. He was a different waiter, and he seemed a lot more cheerful than the other guy. "How can I help?" he asked.
"Well, we ordered Eggo waffles," he said, pointing over at Eleven's plate, "and these aren't Eggos…"
The waiter raised a brow. "Oh," was all he said. He grabbed the plate from the table. "I'll see what I can do."
The waiter walked off with the plate, leaned towards the kitchen window, said some stuff, walked over to the cashier, said some more stuff, and finally returned to Mike and Eleven's table, still holding the same plate of offending waffles.
"Hey," the waiter greeted them. "I'm sorry, but it seems we can't issue a replacement once the bill's been paid."
"What?" asked Mike, incredulous. "But the last waiter who made us pay early."
"You can make an additional—"
"But the last waiter made me pay a huge tip!"
Eleven was seething by now, denied of her Eggos. Her hands gripped the edges of the table, her knuckles already turning white from the force. She sneered at the innocent waiter that was talking with Mike.
"I'm really sorry, sir…"
"Come on, it hasn't been touched."
"I'm only following policy—"
The whole restaurant seemed to shake, the tables and chair swaying. The waiter yelped and held onto their table for balance. Then, as fast as it began, each bottle of maple syrup on each table exploded. Mike, being relatively close to the bottle on their table, was effectively soaked with the stuff.
"Holy shit!" cussed the waiter, bewildered, whipping his head around to scan the restaurant.
"Excuse me," said Mike, abruptly standing up and pulling Eleven with her arms.
And that is when they found themselves in the alley, with Mike towering over Eleven, a syrup soaked shirt, arms crossed, and looking down at her admonishingly.
"Well?" Mike pressed on.
Eleven continued to stare down at her toes, making no noise.
Mike sighed, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his noise. "Eleven," he said.
She peered up at him shyly—for the second time that day already, and Mike couldn't help but find her so damn adorable despite himself… but he had to restrain himself.
"Yes?" she asked timidly, her voice a little shameful.
"I'm only going to ask you one question," he said carefully, "and you only have to answer with a yes or a no."
She nodded, albeit regretfully.
"Did you make all the bottles of maple syrup explode because of Eggos?"
She was quiet for a while, as if weighing down her limited options, before she ultimately answered, "Yes."
Mike sucked in a breath, and held it for a few seconds, before he exhaled (which sounded more like an exasperated sigh). His shoulders visibly slackened, until his arms were resting at his sides.
He looked at Eleven and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again. "Alright," he said, accepting her answer.
She snapped her head up at him, shell-shocked. "You…" she started, "not… mad?"
"Nah," he said, waving it off. "I mean, well, we really gotta start dealing with your, uh, tendencies… but I'm just really hungry right now."
She beamed up at him.
"Whenever someone asks, we could just tell them it was an earthquake or something," he said. "No one's gonna suspect a thing."
Eleven nodded. She was only glad that Mike wasn't mad.
"Come on," he beckoned, pulling his arms up around her shoulders. She really didn't care if he got maple syrup on her. She liked maple syrup. "Let's go over my place, I think we have some Eggos."
Eleven only smiled in response, already beginning to walk.