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Mike is already dead.
In the present, the grave exists. Cold stone. A name carved too early. Flowers that never stay fresh. Silence that never answers.
Norton stands there until the world blurs.
It all started when a stranger stabs Mike to death.
Norton is too far away.
Mike turns when he hears footsteps. He does not even have time to react. The knife goes in. Mike drops, confused more than scared, like he cannot understand why this is happening.
When Norton reaches him, Mike is already taking his last few breaths.
“Hey,” Mike whispers, trying to smile through the pain. “You look awful.”
His hand slips from Norton’s sleeve before help can arrive.
He wakes in the past. The day before everything ends. The air warmer. The sky brighter. The world still holding Mike alive inside it.
Mike turns when he hears footsteps.
Smiles.
“Hey. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Norton almost collapses.
Because Mike is breathing.
It does not last long.
A quiet street. Warm night. No danger in sight.
Mike is laughing about something small, something stupid. Norton remembers thinking, he sounds happy.
Then headlights.
Too bright. Too fast.
Norton screams his name, runs, reaches, almost grabs him.
Almost.
Mike hits the ground hard. When Norton kneels beside him, Mike is still awake, barely.
“You’re shaking,” Mike murmurs weakly. “You’re safe, atleast.”
Norton cannot answer.
Mike tries to lift his hand. It does not reach.
Time resets.
Sometimes it is sudden.
A moment. A mistake. A situation Norton failed to notice coming. Mike falling, voice weak, eyes searching only for him.
Sometimes it is slow.
Mike fading in bed while Norton counts breaths that grow thinner, quieter, fewer.
Sometimes it is peaceful.
Mike asleep beside him, warm at night, cold by morning. Gone without warning. Like time reclaimed what never belonged to this world anymore.
Every loop ends the same.
Norton alone. Hands empty. Voice breaking around a name that no longer answers.
Then time resets.
Again.
Loop Six
Fire.
Norton locked the door to keep Mike safe. He thought danger was outside.
He was wrong.
Smoke fills the hallway. Heat everywhere. Norton drags Mike toward the window, coughing, desperate.
Mike keeps telling him, “Go first. You’re slower than me anyway.”
Norton refuses.
By the time help arrives, Norton is unharmed.
Mike is not.
If nothing changes no matter how far I go, what meaning is there in resisting?
Mike never remembers.
Not the deaths. Not the loops. Not the thousands of times Norton watched him disappear.
Only Norton carries it.
The fear. The grief. The desperation growing sharper each loop.
He stops caring about himself. Stops sleeping. Stops living outside of one purpose.
Saving his beloved.
Then one loop fractures.
It happens near the end again. Mike weak. Breathing shallow. Time closing in like always.
But this time, Mike looks at him differently.
Not confused.
Not fading.
Knowing.
“You’ve failed yet again,” Mike whispers.
Norton freezes. His voice fails.
Mike lifts a trembling hand, touches Norton’s face like he has done it a thousand times before.
“How long have you been trying?” Mike asks softly.
The world stops.
Because Mike should not know.
Should not remember.
Norton’s hands shake. “Too long,” he whispers, tears forming in his eyes.
Mike smiles, weak but warm. The same smile Norton crossed time for.
“Then don’t stop yet,” Mike murmurs. “Find the loop where I stay.”
Loop Fifteen
Hospital lights. Cold and white.
Norton made it in time this time. He stopped the attack. He stopped the fall. He stopped the fire.
But fate finds another way.
Machines. Beeping. Doctors rushing.
Mike looks at him through half open eyes.
“You look worse than me,” Mike whispers.
“Stop talking,” Norton says, voice breaking.
Mike smiles faintly. “You always say that.”
Flatline.
Norton does not remember falling to the floor.
Loop Twenty
Rooftop sunset.
Peaceful. Quiet. Safe.
Mike is talking about something random. Food maybe. Or sleep. Or how Norton forgets to take care of himself.
Then he suddenly stops mid sentence.
His body sways.
Norton catches him before he hits the ground.
Mike looks confused. Like he forgot something important.
“Hey,” he murmurs softly. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Norton begs him to stay awake.
Mike tries.
He cannot.
Loop unknown
Too many deaths blur together.
Sometimes Mike is scared. Sometimes calm.
Sometimes joking. Sometimes quiet.
But every time, near the end, he reaches for Norton.
And every time, he says something soft. Something small.
“You tried.”
Or,
“In another life?”
Or,
“Next time, maybe.”
The worst part is not the blood.
Not the silence.
Not the moment his body goes cold.
It is the look Mike gives him every single time.
Gentle.
Forgiving.
Like Norton was never too late.
Like Mike never blamed him.
Like dying in his arms was enough.
And still,
Norton keeps trying.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until he finds a timeline where he and his lover can be together a little longer, even if it is just once.