There are times in life when one must simply suck in their breath, puff out their chest, and throw caution to the wind. In an ever-changing world, nothing remains constant, and if you tarry too long, time will carry away your song – the song being a proclamation of love and time being the proverbial wind blowing so hard that the girl standing a foot in front of you can't hear a single word of what you're desperately trying to say.

An oddly specific set of circumstances, yes, but in life, Mike Wheeler has learned to never question the odds.

February 13, 1986 – Lunch

Mike felt his gut implode in tension. Fear wracked his nerves in a way he hadn't felt since staring at the Demogorgon. Utterly frozen in his seat, he placed his hands on the table in front of him. He wasn't sure whether or not he was sweating yet, but under the intensity of the interrogating glare, he felt like there were already beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.

Across the table, Eleven curiously looked at her closest friend, confused by his anomalous behavior as evidenced by a single raised eyebrow. Rolling her eyes, El shrugged and went back to her delicious sandwich, ignoring the strange actions of Mike. He had been acting weirder in recent days, but El chalked it up to the incoming Valentine's Day dance, which was, funnily enough, scheduled to be on the fifteenth, the school organizers having decided that a Saturday night would be more appropriate for the event.

Mike had his work cut out for him. Ever since the transition to high school, El could see how popular Mike had become. The boy had grown from an awkward middle school nerd into an athletic, albeit still nerdy, high school heartthrob, and more than one – scratch that, barely less than all – of the girls in their grade had a crush on him. El felt a small twinge of … well, something at that thought.

Absentmindedly wondering who Mike would choose out of his many admirers to go to the dance with (and simultaneously ignoring that pang she still felt in her chest), El continued to chew on her sandwich.

February 13, 1986 – End of School Day

El leaned back into her chair, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she waited for everyone else to filter out of the classroom. The day had been long. No fewer than fifteen girls had asked what Mike liked, on a series of topics ranging from colors to types of chocolate. Evidently, some were willing to go further than others. She had been tempted to give them all wrong answers, to make them embarrass themselves in front of Mike so he wouldn't choose them, but she just couldn't stoop to that level of pettiness. Instead, she put on a nice smile and patiently went over that his favorite color was a rich brown color and that his favorite chocolate bar was Crunch.

Finally deciding that she had waited long enough for the flow of traffic out of the high school to stop, she finally got up, hefted her bag onto her shoulder, fixed her skirt, and strode out of the classroom. As expected, the hallways were empty, save for the occasional teacher or student still trying to get their locker open. With the path clear, she made her way to the side exit, where she and the rest of her friends regularly parked their bicycles. Pushing open the door, she found the rack empty, save two bikes and a Mike.

He stood there solemnly, staring into the distance beyond the high school. The wind, picking up quickly in speed and intensity, blew his hair, which was still unruly and long, around in a way that made him seem like a main character in an action-adventure movie. Turning his head slowly, his eyes widened at the sight of El, and he flipped his backpack to his front, one strap still over a shoulder.

"El!" he cried, walking forwards. For her part, El's heart was pounding, though if one asked her specifically why, the clearest answer she could give would still baffle theoretical physicists and psychologists alike.

"Mike?" she asked, her words nearly being blown away by a sudden gust of wind. She smoothed out her hair, which, since it was still rather short, was easy to maintain, especially on a windy day such as this one.

Mike stood in front of her, his tall form towering over her lithe build, but his face remained impassive. Finally, he seemed to figure something out in his head, because he unzipped his backpack and pulled out a non-descript rectangular box covered in plain white wrapping paper.

"Uh, well," he stuttered, tripping over his words as he paused to consider his next move. El's heart beat faster. She wanted to say something, but her lips seemed unable to move. Her throat felt parched.

"I-" Mike finally began to speak again, but even as his lips moved, a sudden gust of wind, stronger than the one that had just blown by, tore the sound away from El's ears, and she desperately looked at him, unable to understand what he was saying.

"I can't hear you!" she yelled, and Mike nodded, seemingly understanding.

So he leaned in and kissed her. El blinked in shock a few times before closing her eyes and falling into it herself, enjoying the moment as they stood together, a bastion of stillness and tranquility against the wind that roared around them…

They slowly broke apart, both slightly panting, as the wind died down.

"That was… that," Mike muttered.

"Yeah," El replied, beaming.

There was a short silence as they both digested what had just happened.

"So, Valentine Dance?"

"Yes."

A/N: This is the first part of a two-shot that will conclude with "Dance the Night Away".