.

Mike tells El that he loves her by trekking out to the cabin everyday even when it's snowing or raining. They spend hours and hours together, trying to figure out 40,000-piece puzzles or watching soap operas, where they both overdramatically reenact the lines to each other. He tells her he loves her by stopping to buy little trinkets or penny candy with his meager allowance. He uses his five-book limit at the library to take out books he thinks she'll enjoy and reads them to her on the front porch.

He doesn't even realize he loves her then though. Not really. He just knows he likes her more than anyone else. Lucas, Will, Dustin, Max. He likes her even more than his own family (most of the time).

Mike tells her that he loves her but not in so many words.

"You're amazing" and "you're my favorite person in the world", "I love spending time with you".He still doesn't know he loves her. Not yet. But he means every word, every single time he says them.

Mike tells El he loves her with mixed tapes. He doesn't exactly have his own taste in music yet. So, he takes cues from stuff his mom listens to or random songs that he hears on the radio that makes him think of El. Wildflowers, Never Surrender, I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore. With them, he composed a symphony of words that express his feelings better than he ever could. It's a habit that continues long after she moves to California. Songs filled with longs and the distance between them, and songs of love. Always songs of love.

When he wasn't making her mixtapes, he was writing to her. Long rambling letters, making sure not to leave one detail out. He tells her about Hellfire Club and about Lucas being pretty good at basketball. He tells her about how they're all worried about Max because she seems to be pulling away from them. He tells her that Hawkins just doesn't seem the same without her and that the silence left by her absence is deafening.

He talks to her on the phone as much as possible, very aware of the physical distance between them as he listens to her on the other end of the line. He wishes they could be together and makes sure to tell her this as often as he can.

He tells her that he loves her with the small gestures he does for her whenever he gets the opportunity to see her. He rewatches hours and hours of her favorite romances and romcoms, he doesn't know that she takes in every sweeping confession and every single kiss like most girls her age. He shares ice cream with her, even though she likes interesting flavors like bubblegum or cotton candy. And he saves for months and months to purchase her a simple ring. When he slips it on her finger, it's a promise to be with her forever if she'll let him.

He doesn't say it out loud. He thinks the symbolism is loud enough. He hopes that maybe she'll understand what he means with this gesture, bigger than anything else he's ever done before.

It's not like he hasn't tried to tell her that he loves her but he always trips over the words and they turn into something else. Words that don't even make sense to him. He doesn't recognize not being able to say it as some sort of failure on his part because he shows her and it has to be good enough. It is good enough.

So he doesn't understand why she gets so mad at him for not saying it aloud. He doesn't know how she can't tell that he loves her. He did say it at least once even if it wasn't directly to her. He knows she overheard him though. But he doesn't understand why showing her can't be enough.

Because he does love her and he wishes she knew that. It's not because she has powers or because she was a superhero. If anything, his love for her has grown stronger during the months her powers have been missing.

He doesn't realize that she thinks he only loves her because she has powers, because she's some sort of superhero. If he did, he would have corrected her as fast as he possibly could.

Because he doesn't.

He never has.

He never will.

Except he doesn't know all of this until it's too late. He doesn't have a chance to correct himself, and he spends the rest of the time bemoaning the fact that he didn't make it more clear how he felt about her. Maybe things would be different if he had.

Suddenly, after what seems like an eternity except is really only a few days, they are back together again.

And she's struggling so hard to fight Vecna. She's struggling with every fiber of her being, her powers are still coming back in little spurts. Mike cannot bear to watch her like this. He needs to do something.

"El!" he shouts. "El!"

She turns around to look at him, only half-paying attention. She looks absolutely miserable and he wants to do something to take it away. Their eyes meet and he stares at her, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water.

He's vaguely aware that maybe he's wasting her time. The world needs her.

But he needs her too.

He takes a deep shuddering breath. Maybe it's a little too late. But he doesn't care.

"I love you," he says only for her, all for her. His heart is beating out of his chest but he doesn't lack the courage of his convictions. "I love you," he says again, louder and stronger than the first time. "And it's not because you're a superhero… or because you have powers, or even because you were the first girl who ever liked me. I love you and I'm sorry if I didn't say it to you before now. I thought showing you was enough. I'm sorry I ever let you doubt it, even for a second when I should have said it every single day—"

She turns away from him and for a second, he doubts if it was the right thing to say. The right time to say it.

He always did have the worst timing.

But suddenly, she's screaming and fighting for her life. For their lives. Her hand is outstretched in a great show of power while there's blood dripping from her nose and her eyes. Then suddenly, the world is still and she collapses to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Mike runs over to her as fast as he can and kneels on the ground beside her, gathering her in his arms just like all the times before. She's still alive, her breathing shallow, her strength weak as she looks at him through half-hooded eyes.

"Say it again," she says.

Mike half-cries, half-laughs. "I love you," he humors her.

She closes her eyes sleepily. "Again," she whispers.

"I love you," he repeats. "I love you, I love you, I love you—"

"Mike," she interjects, her fingers furling in his shirt. "I love you too."

He's half-elated, half-relieved by her words. He'd been going around secretly afraid that maybe, maybe she had stopped loving him somewhere between her bedroom and her being taken away from them. Or even before then.

But maybe love, it didn't fade that easily.

.

After he says it for the first time, it's like something inside him broke and he can't not say it. He says it to her as often as possible. Sometimes with grand, sweeping gestures attached to it, sometimes it's as simple as a prayer. But now that the words are out between them, he wants to make sure she knows that he loves her under no uncertain terms.

If it annoys her, she doesn't let on. Instead she seems thrilled as she smiles at him, with that dazzling smile, and throws her arms around him, and asks him to say it again.

And he always obliges her.

The End

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Author's Note:

I am not that good at writing sweeping speeches. I'm sure whatever the Duffers have planned for Mike to say to El in the last two episodes of the season will be way more adequate and lovelier than anything I could ever write. But I wanted to write something, about how he shows her that he loves her even though he never says it and exploring how he could possibly say it. Maybe he'll say it to her before she goes off, not mid-battle but right now, anything could happen.

Tell me what you think. I'd love to hear from you.

Love,

Holly