Dear Evan Hansen One Shots [open requests!!]

Mike Faist x Girl (9/4/17)

I got this idea from a headcanon I read on Instagram, although I believe it was about Connor, as opposed to Mike. Either way, I wish I had the source of this awesome idea, but I don't. So I give credit for this idea to the creator, and I feel bad that I don't have the source.

And I have an audition right now so wish me luck!

Mike is a complicated person.

That is sure as hell something I've learned through the years. He likes to keep himself to himself. Mike won't let his emotions out unless I pry it out of him, and that can sometimes take days, or even weeks.

Mike's mental health is also complicated.

He knows quite a bit about depression and anxiety from Dear Evan Hansen, but refuses to believe that he could experience either of those things in his real life.

If Mike is suddenly feeling depressed or very anxious, he'll work out. The way that I see it, this is his form of self harm. He'll work out for hours upon hours and won't leave unless I physically pull him off of a machine. And that is quite challenging considering he's a foot taller than me, and extremely strong.

So when I wake up to a cold bed, I know that something is wrong.

I jump out of bed, pulling on sweatpants and a Calvin Klein bra, heading into the basement where Mike has his gym area.

He's blasting music- the basement is soundproof- and using some machine to work on his arms (I don't work out so I wouldn't know any names of machines or workouts).

Knowing I could scare him if I go up and touch him, I opt to just turn down the music. Mike notices quickly, turning his head to me. He pauses, gives a half ass smile, then returns to working out. "Morning."

"Good morning, love." I murmur, running my fingers through my messy hair. "Why're you working out so early?"

"Just wanted to work out." Mike tells me, his muscles flexing every time he pulls on the bar.

I lean against the wall, my arms crossed over my chest. I don't know what to say after that. I could confront him, but my main concern is him injuring himself.

Thankfully, Mike stops and turns to me. "Why the long face?"

"I'm just concerned for you, baby." I say, walking over and placing my hands on his shoulders.

Mike rolls his eyes, grabbing my waist. "You don't have to be concerned about me, I've told you this a million times."

"But I do have reason to be concerned, Mike." I make sure to keep my voice gentle and loving, as to not get him angry. "You know I want what's best for-"

"Please, not now." Mike snaps, releasing me and standing, walking away.

"Then when is gonna be the time, hmm?" I follow after him as he stomps up the stairs and into first floor of our home. "You never wanna talk to me."

"What the hell?"

"You never wanna talk about the fact that you might need therapy and medication. That this goddamn show is probably doing a lot of fucked up things with your mind. That this show is doing more harm to you than good."

"This is my job you're talking about!" Mike shouts at me, his temper out the window. "My job makes me happy!"

"I understand it's your job, but I don't see how it makes you happy. You come home crying from your show every day and go work out. Last year, you never did that. This show is making you depressed, Mike! Why can you see that?"