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The basement felt smaller than usual—too loud, too full, too tight around my chest. Everyone was settling in like this was normal, like this didn’t hurt, like I wasn’t watching something I wasn’t supposed to want.
“Will, you keep this place freakishly clean,” Max said, tossing popcorn at Lucas before collapsing beside him. “What are you hiding?”
“Probably Mike,” Lucas muttered, smirking. “You guys have secret sleepovers or something?”
Mike didn’t answer. He didn’t look at me either. But I saw the flush creep up his neck, saw the way his jaw tightened like he was bracing for impact.
Then El moved.
She slid closer to him without asking, folding herself into his space like she belonged there. Her head settled on his lap. His hands hesitated—just for half a second—before she guided them into her hair.
That pause destroyed me.
I turned away fast, heart pounding like it was trying to escape my ribs. I focused on the wall, on the floor, on anything except the sight of him touching her the same way he touched me when the lights were off and the world was quiet.
Last night replayed in my head whether I wanted it to or not.
Mike sitting on the edge of the bed. His voice low, steady, lying to the monsters in my head for me. His hands careful, familiar, untangling knots from my hair like they weren’t the same hands that held someone else during the day.
“It’s just a dream, Will,” he’d whispered. “I’m here.”
He was always here.
Just never mine.
“Oh! We should have a sleepover,” El said suddenly, bright and excited.
Something inside me snapped.
I turned—and immediately met Mike’s eyes. Panic. Guilt. Fear. All of it crashing together.
“I—” he started.
Too late. Everyone was already talking, already agreeing, already leaving to grab their things.
The basement emptied out, the noise fading until it was just us and the weight of everything unsaid.
How was I supposed to sleep alone tonight?
Mike crossed the room before I could stop him, gripping my arm like I might disappear if he didn’t.
“Will,” he said quietly.
The sound of my name almost undid me.
“You can sleep in my room,” he murmured. “I’ll come up later.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“You should be with her,” I said, forcing the words out like they didn’t rip something open inside me.
“Will—”
I pulled away, walking fast, not trusting myself to stay. I barely made it to the hallway before Mike grabbed me and dragged me into his room, shutting the door behind us.
“Look at me,” he whispered. “Please.”
He pulled me into his lap, and my body betrayed me instantly, sinking into him like this was home. His hand rubbed my arm, slow and grounding, like he was trying to keep me from breaking apart.
His lips brushed my neck—gentle, familiar—and my chest ached so badly I thought I might scream.
This was how he kept me quiet.
This was how he kept me waiting.
“I know your secret,” I whispered.
“What?” he breathed.
“You keep searching for a reason,” I said. “And you keep choosing her anyway.”
His breath stuttered. “I love you,” he said, like a confession and an apology tangled together. “But things aren’t simple.”
“They never are,” I snapped, standing up. “They’re just convenient for you.”
“Will—”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” I demanded, tears burning. “Watching you touch her like you touch me? Smiling at her like you smile at me? Pretending I’m invisible while you keep me alive at night?”
He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. “This is real,” he said desperately. “What we have—it’s real.”
“Then why does it hurt like I’m dying?” I shouted. “Why do I have to keep surviving you instead of being with you?”
His mouth crashed into mine—desperate, messy, full of everything he refused to say out loud. When he pulled back, his eyes were wet.
“I need you,” he said. “I can’t lose you.”
“I’m already losing myself,” I whispered. “I can’t keep burning like this.”
He dropped to his knees in front of me, hands gripping mine like a lifeline. “I’ll tell her,” he said, voice breaking. “Tonight. I swear. Just—don’t leave me alone.”
I sank down too, forehead pressing to his, both of us shaking.
“Crazy together,” I whispered, even though it felt like a promise that might destroy us.
“No more waiting,” he said. “No more slow burn.”
I nodded.
But somewhere deep down, fear whispered that slow burns were the only kind of fire I’d ever known.