A/N: I present to you: 6.5k words of Mike Wheeler being horrendously down bad ;)

Well, Mike couldn't deny it anymore. He had a crush. A big, fat crush.

He'd never really had one before.

With Eleven everything had happened so fast, there had been no time to second guess anything. All he'd known was that he was feeling things he'd never felt before and he just went with it.

The year after she'd vanished hadn't been so much crushing as it was obsession, and then a month after she'd come back was the Snow Ball and he was already half in love with her by that point. It had come as no surprise to anybody that they'd immediately fallen into a serious relationship.

He didn't understand how he could feel this way so soon after El. Not too long ago he'd been certain he'd never have feelings for anyone ever again.

And yet every time Max looked at him he felt like he took at least ten damage.

She made him anxious and inarticulate and so fucking sweaty. Whenever he was in her presence it felt like the whole world shifted two inches to the left.

It was excruciatingly unfamiliar, this unrequited, one-sided attraction. How did people live like this?

At the moment he was sitting on his usual milk crate in the back of Surfer Boy, gazing at her longingly as she swept the floor.

"Young hearts, run free…" she sang along quietly to the upbeat music.

Mike crossed one leg over the other, resting an elbow on his knee so he could prop his chin up in his palm. He had no idea she had such a pretty voice.

A tendril of hair had fallen free from her ponytail, curving softly against her cheek. He wanted to wrap it around his finger. He wanted to yank her scrunchie off and run his hands through the entire length of her hair and smell it and–

Argyle came in through the back door, immediately making a noise of disgust. "I can't believe how much you like disco, dude. Didn't you get the memo that it died like, seven years ago?"

"Disco is forever, Argyle," Max answered sweetly.

"I'm just saying man, if you're gonna play shit from the seventies at least play something good. Like Zappa!"

"Zeppelin!" Jonesy called out from the front.

Max just grinned and turned up the volume on the sound system. She twirled around with the broom like it was a mic stand, catching Mike's eye.

He shook his head, forcing himself to look away before she noticed the flush blooming across his cheeks.

It was new. She was new. There was something so free about her. She was like sunshine—lighting up the dingy kitchen with her golden glow, and Mike wanted nothing more than to bask in her warmth.

But there was also that undefinable, enigmatic thing just beneath the surface—a little dark, a little damaged. He wanted to keep her safe from it. He wanted her to be happy all the time, and he wanted to be the one to do it.

Maybe his friends were right about his saviour complex. "Mike Wheeler's collection of little broken things," Lucas had once teased him.

Thoughts of Lucas made guilt pang uncomfortably in his gut. Mike hadn't been making much of an effort to keep in touch lately, but neither had he. He still hadn't replied to his last letter. Dustin hadn't either.

Mike straightened up, his resolve suddenly strengthened. The Party couldn't fall apart this easily, not after everything they'd been through. He made the decision to try harder, even if it meant doing the heavy lifting himself.

The next day was a Sunday, so Mike waited until the time he knew Lucas and his family usually came back from church to call.

The line rang and rang, and he was certain it was about to go to voicemail when there was a sharp click.

"Hello?" a familiar voice answered.

"Lucas, hey."

"Mike? What's up, dude?"

"Not much," Mike replied, feeling awkward. This was the first time they'd spoken since the start of October, and he realized he had no idea what to say. "Um… how are you? How's basketball?"

"Good, good," Lucas said absently, as if he was distracted by something on his end. " We're on a three-game win streak right now but our next game is against Lincoln so it's probably ending."

"Cool." Mike cringed at the uncomfortable silence that ensued. How was it possible that talking to one of his best friends was so fucking stilted?

"Are you still coming for Christmas break?" Lucas asked eventually.

"Um… I don't think so."

Even though Mike had gotten his grades back up after his parents' lecture, he wasn't planning on joining Nancy in Hawkins over the break; not when his friendships were so strained.

Not to mention it felt like he'd just started getting over El, and he didn't want to reopen old wounds.

"Oh." Lucas sounded taken aback at his answer. "That's too bad."

Is it? Mike wanted to ask. If they could barely maintain a conversation over the phone, what would it be like in person? Would they be able to fall back into how things were before, or would they feel like strangers?

"Are you still hanging out with those guys you told me about in your last letter?"

"Yeah. Jonesy and Argyle and– and Max," Mike answered haltingly. For some reason, he hadn't mentioned that Max was a girl, and there was something stopping him from correcting it now. "They're cool. They don't play DnD though."

Lucas huffed out a laugh. "Well, maybe we're outgrowing that stuff anyway. There's more to life than fantasy games in basements, you know?"

Mike hummed in agreement although he wasn't sure he felt the same way. He'd never understood this obsession Lucas had with being popular. Okay, yeah, it did get tiring being bullied every day, but he wasn't willing to change everything about himself just to fit in.

"Hey, I gotta go," Lucas said after a second. "Coach has us doing volunteer work at the church food bank. Philanthropy stuff looks good for colleges, so…"

Mike cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, cool. Have fun."

"Bye Mike. We'll talk again soon, okay?"

The line went dead before Mike could reply. He reached out to depress the switchhook until he heard the dial tone again and keyed in Dustin's number. It went to voicemail after a minute, his mother's cheery answering machine message ringing out through the handset. Mike hung up without leaving anything.

His fingertips hovered over the keypad, another number he'd known by heart since he was five years old coming to mind. No. He still wasn't ready to talk to either of them. Maybe he never would be.

Sighing heavily, he placed the phone back in its cradle and lay back on his bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling.

Maybe Lucas had been right about outgrowing things. Maybe The Party was over.

"Motherfucker!"

Mike and Argyle shared a look of alarm at the frustrated shriek that came from the back of the restaurant. The doors swung open violently, banging against the wall as Max stormed in from the kitchen.

Mike turned. Oh. Oh no.

The universe was fucking laughing at him.

Max was soaking wet, her white tank top rendered completely see-through and clinging to her body. He'd never wanted to be a piece of clothing so badly.

It revealed a light green bra with white polka dots and lace trim, which was oddly girlier than he'd expected of her. He swallowed thickly, praying the heat at the back of his neck wasn't spreading to his face.

Argyle!" Max seethed. "The fucking sink is fucking broken again!"

"Okay, chill, man." Argyle lifted his hands in surrender. "I'll call Leo."

"Ugh!" She turned on her heel and stomped back into the kitchen.

Mike watched her through the window. Max had been even more short-tempered than usual the past couple days, biting their heads off at every little thing. He hoped it wasn't because something bad happened with Billy or her stepdad.

"Is she okay?" he asked Argyle in a hushed voice once the storage room door slammed closed behind her.

"I dunno man, I got no clue what– wait. What day is it?"

"Um, the sixteenth?"

Argyle's mouth hung open as he appeared to do some mental math.

"Ah, that explains it, man," he nodded after a second. "It's almost her lady times."

"Her what?"

"You know. Her cycle."

"Oh." Mike made a face. "Why do you know when that is?"

"Old habit from growing up with three older sisters." Argyle shrugged. "Became a necessity to memorize if I wanted to survive. Give it a couple days and she'll calm down to her baseline levels of bitchiness."

Mike nodded. He supposed he could tell when it was almost Nancy's time of the month, only instead of getting irritable, she just consumed massive amounts of chocolate.

Max probably liked chocolate.

"Uh, I'll be right back," Mike said as he headed for the front door.

When he returned a few minutes later from the gas station across the street, Max was back behind the cash register, drowning in an XXL employee t-shirt and sulking like she was having the worst day of her life.

Mike sidled up next to her, wordlessly placing a Kit-Kat bar on the counter and sliding it over.

She glanced at it before looking up at him with suspicion. "And you're giving this to me because…?"

"The vending machine gave me an extra one," he lied easily. "I thought you might want it."

"I like candy more than chocolate."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't take it then."

He started reaching for the chocolate bar but Max quickly snatched it up.

"I didn't say I didn't want it," she snapped, tearing open the shiny red wrapper and breaking a piece off.

Amused, he watched her scarf it down, and when she met his expectant gaze she rolled her eyes.

"Thank you," she mumbled, lightly kicking the side of his shoe.

Mike shrugged like it was no big deal, hiding the fact that his heart was doing victory cartwheels at having brightened her day a little. "No problem."

Sometimes it seemed like maybe she liked him too—when she'd pass behind him at the pizza place and her hand would brush across his back, or the countless times that he'd glance over at her and swear he caught her sharply turning away.

But then he saw the way she leaned her head on Jonesy's shoulder when she was tired at school, or how she'd jump on Argyle's back and make him carry her to the parking lot at the end of the day, and Mike would become convinced that she saw him as nothing more than a friend.

And in the meantime, his feelings for her grew and grew. His nightmares of being chased by demogorgons gradually became replaced by dreams of her smiling face hovering above him; long, sweet-smelling hair falling around them in a curtain as she leaned in close.

His sex drive had been nonexistent since El had broken up with him. Any involuntary arousal that still happened as a result of raging teenage hormones had been dealt with in quick, perfunctory sessions in the shower, the small amount of pleasure he achieved fading away in under a minute.

Lately, however, he'd wake up panting and disoriented and achingly hard, so consumed by unquenchable lust that he almost wished for the bad dreams to return instead.

One evening he walked into Surfer Boy Pizza and found Max and Argyle standing behind the counter, both facing away from him. The music was loud and they hadn't heard the door chime.

Argyle was turned around with his arms wrapped around himself, his hands running up and down his back as he made exaggerated kissy noises.

"Shut up, Argyle!" Max exclaimed, planting her fists on her hips.

Curious, Mike took a step forward, wincing as his shoe squeaked across the freshly mopped floor and they both whirled around.

"What's up…?" he asked at the suspiciously guilty looks on their faces.

"Nothing!" Max practically yelled, her face going red.

Argyle chuckled. "I'm gonna go uh… open pineapple cans."

He disappeared through the swinging doors and then it was just the two of them. Max looked away as Mike approached, busying herself with refilling the drink cups.

He powered through the weirdness, because today wasn't just for fucking around. Today he had an agenda.

Leaning his elbows on the counter, Mike cleared his throat. "So uh, the winter formal is on Friday."

"Sure is."

"Are you guys going…?

He was very pointedly not asking her to the formal. But, if they were to all go as a group and maybe the two of them were to share a slow dance, like, ironically, well then maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing…

Max snorted. "I don't do dances, Wheels."

"Oh," he nodded, looking down in an attempt to hide how crestfallen he felt.

"I do go to the after-parties though."

Mike perked up immediately. "The popular kids let you guys in?" he asked as he followed her to the kitchen.

"They do when we bring the contraband." She nodded at Jonesy who was rolling joints at the stainless steel counter. There was already a full sandwich bag of them next to him and he was halfway through another.

"Premium flower, three bucks each or two for five," Argyle said as he slid a pizza into the oven. "After last Spring Fling, we made serious shmoney, man. Paid for my new deck."

Mike held back the grin that threatened to take over his face. It wasn't a dance, but it was a chance to spend time with Max outside of their usual routine.

And he'd take whatever he could get.

"I can't believe you're going to an actual party."

Mike made a face at his sister's offensive remark. "Wow, fuck you too."

Nancy smirked as she pulled the station wagon into the empty Surfer Boy parking lot, taking the spot directly in front.

She hadn't gone to the dance either, but she was heading over to the school now to help clean up afterwards in order to fulfill some of the volunteer hours that were mandatory for graduation.

"How late are you staying out?" she asked as Mike unbuckled his seatbelt.

"I dunno."

"Well, what do I tell Mom and Dad?"

"Tell them I joined a new board game club so I'll be back late," Mike shrugged. "Oh and unlock my window so I can sneak back in."

Nancy sighed. "Okay, but you owe me."

He got out and walked around to the trunk, taking his bike out and leaning it against the wall.

"Make good choices!" she yelled out her window as he opened the door of the restaurant. Mike rolled his eyes and gave her a sarcastic thumbs-up.

He stepped inside, immediately greeted by Argyle popping the collar on another one of his atrocious shirts and doing a spin. "Check it. Fresh Ocean Pacific."

"Nice…" Mike replied, internally grimacing at the clashing pastel patterns of his shirt and pants.

Argyle looked past him and through the window at Nancy reversing out of her parking spot. "Who's the babe?"

"My sister…"

"That's your sister? You know what, I think we actually have a class together–"

"She's taken," Mike said sternly. No way in hell was he letting Argyle make a pass at Nancy.

"No problemo brah, she's not my type."

"What is your type, Argyle?" Mike asked, following his friend to the kitchen.

"Goth chicks, cheerleaders, girls who look like they could beat me up…" Argyle listed off.

"Lonely housewives," Jonesy chimed in from the counter.

"That was one time!"

Mike chuckled and glanced at his watch. It was already after ten. How late did these things start? "Are we ready to go?"

Argyle nodded towards the closed door of the employee restroom. "We're waiting on Tiny Tits."

"I told you to stop calling me that, you dick!" Max's voice came through the door. Seconds later, it swung open and she leaned against the frame. "They're not even that small anymore."

Mike gulped. Fuck his entire life. She looked so pretty. Her hair was down, which was rare, and there was a light blue clip on either side, holding it away from her face.

His eyes scanned lower. She wasn't wearing anything fancy, just jeans and a black, long-sleeved waffle shirt, but it was a lot tighter than the baggy tees and flannels that she normally wore.

It also confirmed that they were definitely not small.

He tore his eyes away from her before he started drooling, suddenly feeling hot all over. How the hell was he going to survive this night?

After locking up the restaurant they loaded all their bikes into the back of the van—since Argyle was planning on getting too loaded to drive home—and hit the road.

The party was being hosted by one of the seniors on the football team. His house was up in the foothills on the east side of town, where the massive homes got more spread out the higher they climbed up the winding roads. Argyle parked on the street behind a long row of cars and they walked up to the gated property.

Mike took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. He'd never actually been to a house party before. At least not one that was more than eating chips in someone's basement.

Lucas had tried to convince them to go to a basketball afterparty one time but none of them had wanted to risk being stuffed into a closet, or worse.

He tried to remind himself that this wouldn't be like that. This time he was part of a more desirable social group.

"This rager's gonna be hella tight!" Argyle said as they wove through the sea of parked vehicles crowded into the long, semicircular driveway. "I hope Missy Thompson's here, she is so bodacious."

"Argyle, Missy Thompson is a cheerleader." Max scoffed. "She would never slum it with a wastoid like you."

"That's where you're mistaken, my friend. Uptight babes like Missy love to get their hands a little dirty if you know what I mean."

Jonesy nodded sagely while Max made a face and muttered, "Gross."

The front yard was littered with groups of teenagers laughing and shouting, a few of them already too drunk to walk straight.

Most of them had clearly just come from the dance; the girls had swapped out their formal dresses for casual wear while most of the boys had ditched the ties but still had their button-down shirts on, collars open and varsity jackets thrown overtop.

Rock music blared loudly over the chatter of the party as they walked into the entryway. It was a split-level house—a short staircase to the left leading down to a lower level, and another one upstairs to the kitchen and living room. Both were packed with teens in varying states of impairment, beer bottles and red plastic cups clutched in their hands. Mike figured half the school had to be there.

Argyle immediately got swarmed by people wanting to buy weed, shoving dollar bills in his face while he chuckled and led them downstairs, unzipping his fanny pack full of "contraband."

The rest of them were pushed forward by the crowd coming in through the front door, making their way upstairs to the main level. The next time Mike looked back Jonesy had disappeared as well, leaving just him and Max in the spacious living room, standing against the railing that overlooked the entryway.

She chuckled at the shell-shocked expression on his face, beckoning for him to follow her. She led him around the massive fireplace that separated the living room from the rest of the house and over to the C-shaped bar tucked against one side of the kitchen. It had its own sink and mini fridge, and the counter space was littered with liquor bottles and things to mix it with.

Max shoved her way through to the front and grabbed two cups, checking to make sure they were clean before pouring in a generous amount of something golden brown and topping it off with Coke from a two-litre bottle.

Mike took one of the cups from her as they stepped over to the side. He leaned against the window and took a cautious sniff of his drink, immediately wincing at the sting.

"Are you trying to poison me?" he asked Max.

She chuckled and took a long sip from her own cup. "It's just whiskey and Coke. Try it, it's not bad."

He narrowed his eyes doubtfully and took a drink. The liquor burned down his throat, and he could feel his left eyelid twitching as he fought to maintain a neutral expression.

"Yeah, not bad," he rasped, roughly clearing his throat as Max laughed, clearly unconvinced.

She inclined her chin towards the kitchen island, which was surrounded by a large, giggling group of girls. "You don't wanna go scope out the talent?"

"No," he answered too quickly. "I mean uh… I'll make the rounds later."

"Okay," she murmured, smirking into her drink.

Mike took another long drink from his cup. He needed to get a grip. The night had barely started and he was already making an ass of himself.

With El, he babbled non-stop, but Max made him forget every word in the English language. He'd never felt more stupid than when he was trying to keep up with her, engaging in witty banter just for the chance to earn an approving smile.

He glanced over, surreptitiously admiring her profile—the soft curl of her lashes and the cute slope of her nose and her lips , Jesus Christ her fucking lips. He imagined reaching out a fingertip, tracing over the perfect cupid's bow of her top lip and then the full swell of the bottom one…

Looking away, he took another big gulp of his drink, finding it burned a little less than last time and immediately taking another one.

Mike had gotten drunk exactly twice before—once at Steve's place when he'd let them drink his beer under supervision and another time when Dustin had swiped a bottle of Smirnoff from his mom's liquor cabinet on Memorial Day and they'd all ended up passed out at nine pm in Mike's basement in the middle of a Star Wars marathon.

Max gently touched his elbow, sending a pinprick of electricity shooting up his arm. "Let's do a lap."

He followed close behind her as they edged their way through the crowd, around the kitchen island and past the formal dining room where a rowdy game of beer pong was in progress. An open door led to a laundry room that hosted several kegs of beer, the group inside counting loudly as two boys went head to head in a keg stand.

They made their way back through the living room where someone had put Night of the Comet on the TV, and continued down the stairs to the lower level. Mike already felt a little lightheaded from the drink, descending the curved staircase carefully to avoid disaster.

The left side of the room appeared to be a home office, occupied by a group he recognized as the drama kids, sitting on top of the large desk and spilling their drinks as they engaged in some sort of spirited debate.

They squeezed through the bottleneck in the short hallway to the right towards the other, larger side of the room. It was normally a den, but the sofas and coffee table had been moved to the perimeter to make space in the middle for a dance floor.

The overhead lights were off and someone had set up a rotating light ball somewhere, casting swirling rainbow streaks on the walls and ceiling as RB music blared from the stereo system.

Mike's eyes widened as he observed his classmates dancing much closer than would have been allowed in the school gym, hips swaying slowly and hands wandering everywhere.

He glanced over at Max, who raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

His stomach leapt into his throat. "Uh… I don't really dance."

"Not even with me?" She batted her eyelashes.

Mike opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he swallowed hard. He really, really wasn't one for dancing, especially like that. But the idea of her grinding up on him, her torso pressed against his, exchanging body heat… was an immensely appealing prospect.

Then Max laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm just kidding, I don't dance either."

"Good," Mike laughed nervously, taking another sip of his drink and frowning when he found the cup empty.

"Let's go track down Argyle, I think I hear him all the way from the upstairs deck."

Mike nodded as they turned around, leaving the horny mass of bodies behind. He knew he was being pathetic, following her around like a puppy.

His feelings for her must be written all over his face and after tonight she'd surely think he was a massive loser.

God, he needed another drink.

Max laughed heartily as she stood on a stool and poured beer into a funnel directly into Argyle's waiting mouth, white teeth on display and nose wrinkling adorably.

Mike groaned and banged his head back against the wall where he was seated in the breakfast nook, watching her from across the room. She was so hot. And fun. And hot.

He'd been trying to play it cool all night but his eyes were drawn to her no matter where she was, his body turning towards her like a plant to the sun; like he was the needle of a compass and she was his magnetic north.

This party was testing the limits of his self-control. All evening they'd been hovering near each other, her hand resting on his elbow or shoulder when she leaned in to say something in his ear, overwhelming his senses with the smell of her shampoo.

It was torture.

The drinks he'd been knocking back had his inhibitions dangerously low, and he was beginning to think telling her about his feelings wasn't too bad of an idea if it meant an end to all this uncertainty.

He'd been trying to gauge whether she felt the same way. She was being touchier than usual, but she was touchy with Argyle and Jonesy too… Maybe she just considered him a good friend now like she did them.

He didn't think she was interested in anyone there. A couple of guys had sauntered up to her with sleazy pickup lines but she'd swiftly brushed them off, to Mike's extreme relief.

He didn't know what he would do if he saw her being led away to one of the bedrooms. Throw himself off the roof, probably.

All of a sudden, Jonesy reappeared for the first time since they'd arrived, emerging from the crowd and bending down in front of him.

He reached out and grabbed Mike's face with both hands, the material of his fingerless gloves rough against his cheeks. His pupils were the size of saucers and Mike wondered what the hell he'd taken.

"Wheels, dude, listen to me carefully," he said slowly, waiting until Mike nodded to continue. "You gotta make the move before the move makes you."

Mike blinked as the words sank in. Yes. That was the most profound thing he'd ever heard. Jonesy was so wise. He shouldn't waste any more time.

Jonesy vanished into the crowd again and Mike stood, eyes automatically searching for a flash of red hair.

Not seeing her right away, he walked over to the island where she'd been just a moment ago.

"Two fingers is all it takes!" Max exclaimed as she popped up next to him.

Mike gaped at her. "Excuse me?!"

"Two Fingers Tequila." She held up the bottle in her hand. "You know, the ads?"

Right. Yes. The ads. He remembered his father scoffing in distaste at the highway billboards—a smiling, busty woman holding up a bottle next to the provocative slogan.

"Gimme your arm." Max grabbed his forearm and shoved the sleeve of his shirt up, turning his hand over. "Hold this."

She gave him a lime wedge that he pinched between his thumb and forefinger, his skin tingling as she shook salt onto the inside of his wrist. Still holding onto him, she turned around and got a shot glass, filling it to the brim with clear liquid from the bottle.

"Bottoms up."

Mike's brain ceased to function as Max leaned in, swiping her soft, wet tongue across the salt on his wrist before throwing back the shot. Then she bit the lime wedge right out of his fingers, her lips closing briefly around the tips and sending shockwaves of heat straight to his dick.

It took all of his effort to stop his knees from giving out. What the actual hell was that?!

This girl was such a mindfuck. He didn't know much about romance but surely finger sucking must be a sign.

He stared at her in disbelief as she sucked the juice out of the lime, flashing him a half smile before turning to get rid of the rind. Mike grabbed onto the edge of the counter to steady himself. Was it his turn to do the same to her?

Unfortunately, he never got to find out, because a loud thud from above revealed the disturbing sight of someone's bare ass pressed to the skylight, sending Max shrieking and running away.

The muffled bassline thumped on the other side of the door as Mike looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Bracing his hands on the tiled counter, he leaned in close to his reflection, feeling that familiar dissociation that confirmed he was well past tipsy.

Dark eyes, big nose, big lips. He wondered if his combination of facial features could be attractive to Max. Taunts of Frog Face popped into his head, old insecurities swimming back to the surface.

He swayed away from the counter and opened the door. His watch told him it was just after one in the morning.

Leaning against the wall for support, he stumbled out of the bathroom and back up the stairs. The party was still going strong, teetering right on the edge of getting out of hand. A cheer went up from the kitchen as something crashed to the floor and shattered.

Mike frowned, head swivelling as he looked around for Max. She'd last been in the living room, curled up on the plush sofa between him and Argyle. Now that area was occupied by a group of juniors playing a game of Suck and Blow. How long had he been in that bathroom for?

God, it was hot in here. He tugged at the collar of his polo shirt, popping the last two buttons and rolling up his sleeves.

He wandered out onto the elevated deck. The night air felt good—cold and sharp against his flushed skin. Mike sucked in a deep breath, feeling the fogginess in his head clear a little.

He staggered over to the railing and peered down into the darkened backyard, quickly spotting Max by the pool. She was sitting alone on the edge with her jeans rolled up and bare feet dangling in the water.

Hanging heavily onto the railing, Mike descended the wooden steps, dodging lounging smokers.

Max smiled at him as he approached. Someone had cranked up the heat and a wall of steam rose up in front of them, creating a partition of sorts between them and the rest of the party.

He lowered himself down next to her clumsily, yelping as he nearly tumbled backwards.

Okay, Mike was a little bit shitfaced.

"I'm a little bit shitfaced," he declared as he folded his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees.

Max laughed. "Pretty rad party, huh?"

"Totally." Mike nodded.

He felt something graze his arm and he looked over to find her bare, freckled shoulder inches from his own. He wanted to sink his teeth into it like an apple.

She'd lost her long-sleeved shirt somewhere inside and now she was in a tank top, goosebumps dotting her pale skin.

"Actually, this is my first party," he said, averting his gaze. "My friend group back home… we weren't exactly cool."

"No, really?"

He smiled begrudgingly at her sarcasm. "We got bullied a lot, but we had each other. I would've done anything for them, and they would've done the same for me…"

Max was quiet for a moment, and then she took a breath. "When I first started skating I was the only girl at the skatepark, and all the boys were so mean to me. Every time I'd fall they'd laugh and tell me to go home and play with my dolls… Not Jonesy and Argyle, though. They stuck up for me and took me in.

"Like I know I could've easily turned into this angry, resentful kid like Billy but… they've always had my back. They're idiots, but they're my idiots."

Mike nodded, staring wistfully at the ripples she was making in the water as she idly swung her feet back and forth.

He'd largely avoided talking about the guys with her. Partly because he was worried he'd let something slip that he wasn't supposed to, but also because being away from them still hurt, and he didn't want that negativity to tarnish his new friendships.

"I couldn't imagine having to move away from here and leave everything behind," she continued. "It must've been really hard for you."

"Yeah, it pretty much sucked," he replied. "The truth is I… I don't really think I know who I am without them. The Party, I mean."

"Well, you're one of us now." She bumped her shoulder against his. "You have the tat and everything."

Butterflies erupted in his stomach as he swayed to the side, catching himself on his hand. Fuck, he was definitely shitfaced.

Max giggled, coyly lifting her shoulder to her chin in a move that was way too cute. Her eyes were glassy but they looked bluer than ever, reflecting the light of the pool. Blue had always been Mike's favourite colour, but now he thought it was that exact shade of blue—like the sky on a clear winter's day. He could live in that shade of blue.

His heart galloped in his chest. It felt like there was no filter between his brain and his mouth, and all he could hear was Jonesy's voice in his head telling him to make the move…

He was going to do it. He had to know.

"Max?" Mike took a deep breath as she looked over at him. Make the move. "I like you. A lot."

There it was.

His words hung like a physical thing between them, heavy and tangible. He immediately wished he could snatch them out of the air and shove them back into his mouth. Stupid stupid stupid!

But then Max smiled and said, "I like you too, Mike."

His breath hitched. She'd actually used his name. Not New Kid, not Wheels, his name. It sounded so good. He hadn't known it could sound so good. It was like an arrow hooked right into his heart, tugging with something that felt like hope.

"Especially your hair…" she murmured, reaching up to lightly run her fingers through it. The gesture made him shudder, and he fought the urge to lean into her touch.

She didn't understand, though. He didn't mean just as a friend. He needed to make her understand.

Mike pulled back, dropping his gaze down to his fidgeting hands. "No like, I like like you."

"I know."

He snapped his head up, meeting her eyes again. The smile on her face grew. His brain took a moment to process what was happening.

She knew? She knew and she was… looking at his mouth?

Then she must have leaned in because suddenly her face was only inches from his, her freckles filling his entire field of vision.

Holy shit, were they about to kiss? It seemed like they were. This could not be happening. This could not be fucking happening.

His heart slammed even harder against his ribcage. For a split second, he wondered how his breath was, cursing himself for not swiping a Certs mint from his mom's purse that morning.

But then his thoughts were wiped clean as he felt Max exhale against his lips and then they were parting slightly and brushing together and–

"Wooo!"

Mike looked over just in time to see Argyle come sprinting out of nowhere and launch himself gracelessly into the pool, creating a massive wave that drenched him and Max from head to toe and completely ruined the moment.

She cackled as Mike spluttered and furiously raked his wet hair out of his eyes. He was going to fucking murder Argyle.

But then Max was wrapping an arm around his shoulder and cupping his face with her other hand as she leaned their foreheads together. "Ready, New Kid?"

"Wha–?" Mike sucked in a breath a split second before they toppled into the pool—warm, chlorinated water surrounding him as he twisted around and kicked his way to the surface, immediately greeted by the sound of Max's delighted laughter.

After that, things got blurry.

Mike killed the engine of the station wagon, looking pensively across the parking lot at Surfer Boy Pizza.

He'd woken up about an hour ago with the worst hangover of his life, mouth tasting like death and stomach rolling with every movement. Thankfully his family was out, leaving behind a note that informed him they'd gone to the farmers market.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. A fresh wave of nausea rolled over him at the prospect of facing Max after they'd confessed their feelings for one another.

What if she thought it was just a drunken mistake? Or worse, what if she regretted it and wanted to stop being friends altogether? That would break his heart into a million pieces all over again.

Then he remembered the gentle way she'd said his name, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, they could pick up where they'd left off before Argyle ruined everything.

Mike took a breath as he opened the car door. He had to face this head-on.

Max was slumped over the counter, both elbows leaning on the countertop so her hands could hold up her head, her eyes concealed by a pair of red-framed sunglasses.

"He lives," she said in a raspy voice as he entered.

Mike smiled shyly and glanced around. "Where are the guys?"

"Jonesy's in the storage room taking a nap on the flour sacks. Argyle doesn't get hangovers so he's chipper as a fucking squirrel, tossing dough."

Mike came around the counter and hopped up so he was sitting on it next to her. He pressed his sweaty palms to his jeans. "So… last night got a little crazy."

"Yeah, it must've, because I don't remember a fucking thing," Max muttered, keeping her gaze forward.

"Really? Uh, nothing?"

Mike didn't remember much himself after plunging into the water, just flashes of things—hauling himself out of the pool, Max pulling him into the kitchen to drink more, crowding into a pantry soaking wet to smoke a joint with a random assortment of people…

Then the next thing he knew he was dodging the kids vomiting in the front yard, listening to the whirr of his bike wheels spinning as he cruised home, crashing into a hedge in front of his house, finally tumbling head first on his bedroom carpet at three in the morning… and then he woke up.

It was all muddled and disjointed, but he remembered what had happened just before all of that with perfect clarity.

He hadn't stopped thinking about it all day, replaying their almost-kiss in his pounding head over and over again in vivid, excruciating detail every time he closed his eyes.

"Not after I did that tequila shot. Totally blacked out." Max lowered her shades and peered up at him over the top of them. "Oh shit, did I do something embarrassing? Actually, don't tell me, I don't wanna know."

"Um, no…" Mike replied, his heart oddly sinking. "No, nothing happened. You're good."

He wasn't sure why he was so disappointed. He should be glad she didn't remember. The universe had basically just given him a do-over.

It was for the best.

A/N: Eek! Do we think Max was telling the truth about blacking out...?