Chapter Text
Creakkkkk
The sound of the front door sparks all of our attention, and we wait for Max, Lucas, and Dustin to join us in Jane’s room.
The first thing I notice when the trio enters the room is Max.
Her eyes are red and puffy and she looks like she’s been crying. A lot. The second thing I notice is how her eyes fill with tears when she she’s Mike, and how she rubs her eyes quickly. The third thing I notice is Dustin and Lucas. Lucas looks oddly scared, and Dustin looks outright guilty.
Mike seems to notice the same things, because he walks over to Max, his slender legs getting him to her in three steps.
He crouches down a bit so they’re face to face and whispers something to her.
“What’s wrong?”
His eyes are wide and look so innocent in that moment, I can’t help but reminisce when it was him asking me those questions. He still does, all of the time. Are you okay? What’s going on? What’s wrong?
Maybe I should have asked him those questions too.
“We need to talk.”
Max seems to steal the words right out of my mouth.
“Lets go to my room,” I say, already walking to it.
Dustin sits next to me on the bed, and Max sits on the floor. Lucas sits across the room, knees drawn to his chest, and Mike sits next to Max. Jane sits next to Dustin and we all look at Max expectantly.
“So…are we gonna talk, or what?” Mike asks dully.
Max takes a shaky breath.
I can feel my heart racing in my chest.
And—
“Mike?” She gestures for Mike to scoot closer. He does, hesitantly. She cups his ear and whispers something that not even I can hear even though I’m close enough to reach out my arm and touch her from my bed.
The air around us completely changes. Mike’s eyes widen, and his hand grabs Max’s wrist.
“No…Max, no,” Mike hisses.
“I’m sorry,” her voice is trembling even harder than Mike’s hands.
His pupils are pinpricks and I jump off the bed. I drop to my knees to try and calm him down, with one phrase echoing in my mind.
What’s wrong?!
He cowers away from him and I try to put my hand on his shoulder. He flinches away from me and covers his head with his arms.
His eyes are hysterical and crazed with fear.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t touch me! I’m sorry!”
Confusion swallows any other emotion I'm feeling as soon as I hear his broken voice, because Micheal Wheeler doesn’t “do” broken. He’s strong, he’s funny, he’s the heart. But right now, shaking like a leaf, a shell of himself? Right now he looks like everything has finally caught up to him.
The sleeve of his sweater rides up and silver lines catch my line of sight. He notices me and shoves his sleeves down. His chest is heaving and his breaths are coming in short, fast gasps.
“Can’t—can’t breathe,” he rasps.
He stumbles up and almost falls before catching himself on the wall roughly. His knees buckle again, and Max catches him, wrapping her arms around his torso. His head falls against her neck and he breaks. He practically melts into her, sobs tearing out of him. They are rough, sharp noises that break apart my insides. Max waves us out frantically, and Dustin, Lucas, and I leave the room hurriedly. But we can still hear Mike’s knees hit the floor. We can still hear the soft whispers of Max trying desperately to calm the agonized boy in her arms. We can still hear the muffled screams that scrape Mike’s throat and break out hearts. We can still hear the cries that sound like razors slicing through every layer of skin on his body, piercing bone and marrow and clattering to the floor still dripping with the blood of our friend, our brother, our heart. And I still don’t know what it is that’s gutting him. I try to forget anything and everything about tonight, to just remember Mike. But all I can remember is that I love him.
I love him. I love him. I love him.
I love his dark brown eyes that look just like a doe’s and his freckles that are the prettiest dots of stars and his wavy black hair that he’s always running his nimble hands through. I love his pale fingers that are calloused from writing and I love his dark under-eyes that make him look like a vampire. I love his music taste, no matter how depressing it may be, and I love his style. I love his voice and I love the way he sings along to the songs on the radio. I love the way he pronounces my name and I love the way he sometimes paints his nails black. I love when he reads his stories to me.
I love Mike.
And tonight, I’ll tell him.