Sunshine Girl

He asked Tiffany instead — loud, pretty, predictable Tiffany — like none of it had mattered. You tried not to let it get to you. But there he was, on the dance floor, swaying with her like he hadn’t promised you something else.

Mikey noticed. He always noticed.

“What?” he said, leaning toward you with a crooked grin. “I’m not good enough company for you now?”

You turn to him. He’s standing there in a slightly wrinkled tux, a pink boutonnière pinned crooked to his lapel, hair a little too fluffy like he’d fought with the gel and lost. He looks like trouble. Like something you’d run to and regret later.

“You’re the best company, Mikey Bear,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “It’s just… doesn’t this feel kind of shitty to you? Like we got ditched?”

He laughs — that full, unfiltered Mikey laugh that bubbles up from his chest. It’s infectious, even now. “Yeah,” he says. “A little. But come on. It’s Richie. You know how he is, he is a little shit. Can’t help himself.”

You nod, but your eyes drift back to the dance floor. You don’t mean to stare, but your gaze locks on Richie and Tiffany, his hands too familiar at her waist.

Mikey gently tugs your hand. “Forget them,” he says. “Come dance with me.” So you do.

You let him pull you close, his hand settling at your waist like it belongs there. Your other hand slides into his without a second thought. The music’s slow, something dreamy and old-fashioned, and Mikey starts swaying with more rhythm than you expected.

“I thought we’d stick together tonight,” you murmur.

“We are,” he says softly. “The two of us. And let’s be honest — I’m way more fun than Richie in a tux.”

That makes you laugh. It breaks the tension, just enough.

“You do look good,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

“So do you,” he says. “You look like trouble.”

You glance up, and he’s looking at you differently. His expression softer, thoughtful. Like he’s thinking something he’ll never say.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he adds, his voice almost lost under the music. “Even if it’s not all three of us… I’m really glad it’s you here with me.”

You don’t say anything back right away. But your hand squeezes his just a little tighter. And he knows. —-----------

10 years before that thing they did.

Here you are again.

The music is different this time — warmer, slower, more adult — but the feeling? It's eerily familiar. You’re standing on another polished floor, under another canopy of dim lights and champagne-soaked joy, watching Richie Jerimovich dance with Tiffany.

Only now, her dress is white. And this isn’t prom. It’s their wedding.

She looks beautiful. Radiant. Like she was made for this day, for that man.

Her smile could warm a church, and Richie — he looks spectacular. Clean-shaven, standing tall, his hands steady on her waist like he finally knows what he wants.

You’re happy for him. Honestly, you are. She’s good for him. Grounds him. He laughs like he means it when he’s with her. Still, something inside you pulls. Not jealousy. Just… memory.

“Déjà vu, huh?” Mikey murmurs, his voice low near your ear. You feel the rumble of his chest through the hand resting on his shoulder.

You glance up at him — older now, softer in the jaw but sharper in the eyes. His hair’s neater, suit better-fitted than that prom night disaster, but that mischievous glint? Still there. Always there. He’s the one dancing with you again. He didn’t ditch you then. He hasn’t now.

“You saying we’re cursed to always be the ones watching?” you tease.

“I’m saying Richie’s got a type,” he replies, smirking. “Loudmouths with good taste.” You laugh — it breaks something light in your chest.

Mikey spins you gently, one arm never leaving the small of your back. His touch is steady, familiar. Protective, even. Not possessive, though. Never that. Not with Mikey.

“I mean it,” he adds, softer now. “You look stunning tonight. Knockout.” You smile, cheeks heating. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Berzatto.” He chuckles. “I try. For weddings and court dates only.”

You’re dancing, swaying slowly in a sea of couples, champagne flutes, and clinking silverware, but the room feels distant — blurred around the edges. Because the man in front of you is looking at you like you’re not just someone he showed up with. Not just his prom date or his old friend. He’s looking at you like maybe he should’ve said something a long time ago.

You glance back toward Richie and Tiffany. He kisses her knuckles. Her nose scrunches when she laughs. They look perfect.

But when you turn back, Mikey is watching you — his gaze soft but heavy, like he’s carrying something unsaid between you.

This handsome man you’re dancing with — the one who’s been steady at your side through every almost — he holds your eyes a moment longer than before. The air thickens with things left unspoken.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” he asks quietly. You tilt your head, searching his face. He smiles, but it’s not quite a happy one. “That maybe some things are better left as memories.”

You let out a soft breath, the kind that’s equal parts relief and ache. “Yeah,” you say. “Maybe.” The music swells around you, the laughter and chatter fading into a quiet bubble where it’s just the two of you. Mikey squeezes your hand gently.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers. You lean in just enough to rest your forehead against his. “Me too,” you reply.

And for a moment, that’s enough.

—------------------------ 5 years after the wedding. That thing they did.

The sun is dipping low, casting a golden haze over your backyard. The air smells like freshly cut grass, barbecue smoke lingering faintly from earlier. You’re sitting on the old wooden bench that’s a little crooked, the one Mikey swore he’d fix last summer but never did. It creaks beneath you as you lean back, a cold beer sweating in your hand.

Richie is sitting opposite you, slouched deep in a battered beach chair. His legs stretch out like he’s trying to disappear into the grass. He’s clutching his own beer like it might steady him. You can see the tightness in his jaw, the weight behind his tired eyes. Today wasn’t a good day. He signed the divorce papers this morning.

It hits you harder than you expected. Not because you didn’t know it was coming — you’ve all been circling this for nearly a year — but because it finally feels real. Concrete. Richie won’t see his daughter as much as he wants. And no matter how many times he says, “It’s for the best,” you know the truth lingers behind his words like a shadow. Mikey is sitting next to you, an empty beer bottle resting on the ground by his foot. He keeps glancing over at Richie with a kind of worried hope, like maybe if he looks hard enough, he can find the right thing to say. You don’t have the answers either. But tonight, you want to try.

You take a long sip, the cool bitterness of the beer grounding you. The backyard is quiet except for the faint buzz of cicadas and the distant hum of cars on the street.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “I think we need a distraction.”

Richie snorts, but it’s hollow. “Oh yeah? Like what? Another round of ‘How to Fix Your Broken Life’ lessons from Mikey?”

Mikey throws you a mock glare. “Hey. I’m doing my best here.”

You laugh softly. “No, seriously. I’m thinking... dancing.”

Richie blinks. “You want to dance? Now?”

“Yeah. Come on,” you grin, standing up and stretching. “Both of you.”

Mikey groans but stands anyway, shaking his head. “You’re terrible.”

Richie just looks at you, that mix of disbelief and something softer. You can’t quite read it, but it’s there. “Okay,” he says finally, setting his beer down. “One fucking dance. But I’m not promising I won’t step on your toes.”

You lead them both to the small patch of grass you cleared for late-night hangs, the uneven ground soft underfoot. The sun is almost gone now, and the sky is a dusty pink. Mikey grins as he reaches for your hand, and Richie hesitates before taking your other one. You squeeze both of them tight, feeling the warmth of their skin, the steady pulse in their fingers.

The music you put on is slow and quiet — nothing fancy, just something that fits the mood. As you start moving, the awkwardness between you dissolves, if only a little. Mikey’s usual confidence is there, but tonight it’s quieter, gentler. Richie surprises you, actually keeping pace without looking like he’s about to fall over.

You notice the lines around his eyes that weren’t there before, the way his smile is more fragile now. He still laughs — a little forced, but it’s there.

“So,” you murmur, “how does it feel to be officially single again?”

Richie shrugs, eyes fixed on the grass beneath your feet. “Like I lost more than half my heart.”

Your chest tightens.

“That’s not fair,” Mikey says, voice low. “You’re still whole.”

Richie snorts bitterly. “I don’t know about that.”

You want to reach out, to say something that’ll fix it, but you don’t have those words. You only have this dance, this moment.

The night wraps around you, soft and quiet. “Remember prom night?” Mikey suddenly asks, voice almost teasing. You glance at Richie, whose lips twitch.

“You, me, and Richie crashing the dance like idiots,” Mikey says with a grin. “Richie bailing on us for Tiffany.” “Yeah,” you reply. “He looked just as smug then.”

Richie laughs — real, not forced. “I was pretty cool.” “You were also a giant jerk,” Mikey shoots back. “Yeah, well. I had my fucking reasons.”

There’s a pause, the kind that falls comfortably between people who’ve known each other too long. You realize you’re holding both their hands tighter than you meant to.

Richie’s voice breaks the silence. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For all of it. For bailing, for the divorce, for being... well, me.” You shake your head.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly. “We’ve all got scars.”

Mikey nods. “Yeah. And we’ve all been broken in different ways.” Richie looks up, eyes glistening with something close to hope. “Thanks,” he says. “For being here.”

You smile, feeling your own throat tighten. “You’ll always have us,” you say. Mikey leans in and whispers, “Even when we drive you fucking nuts.” Richie laughs, a real, full laugh that echoes through the backyard.

The night deepens around you, stars twinkling faintly above like distant promises. Richie’s laugh — full, real, the kind that shakes off old pain for a moment — still echoes through the backyard, warming the air between you.

You’re dancing, caught in a strange, beautiful triangle: Richie in front of you, Mikey behind. Their hands both hold onto yours, fingers intertwining like a secret language only the three of you understand.

You lean back slowly, resting your head against Mikey’s chest. His heartbeat thunders steady and strong beneath your ear, a reassuring rhythm that soothes the lingering ache in your own chest. The warmth of his body seeps through your shirt, grounding you, making everything feel… safer, somehow.

Richie’s eyes flicker between you and Mikey, softening with a smile that’s part nostalgic, part something unspoken — like he’s seeing you both in a way he hasn’t before.

For years, the three of you have been a tangled mess of friendship and almost, laughter and grudges, broken promises and shared memories. But right now, under the quiet blanket of night, it feels simple.

You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of grass, beer, and Mikey’s cologne — the faintest trace of cedar and something muskier, uniquely him.

Mikey’s hand slides up your back, fingers pressing gently into the curve of your spine. You sigh, letting yourself relax fully against him. Richie’s hand squeezes yours — light, careful.

It’s as if, for these few minutes, the past, the pain, the tangled emotions all melt away. Then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, the three of you slow your movement until the dance almost stops — just swaying slightly.

You open your eyes and find Richie’s gaze, warm and steady, searching. Mikey’s eyes catch yours next — softer, maybe a little nervous, but steady. You realize the moment has shifted. The weight of years, the moments you never said out loud — they’re pressing in, thick and sweet and heavy all at once.

You glance between them, feeling a nervous flutter you haven’t felt in years — excitement mixed with uncertainty. Suddenly, you realize how close you all are. Richie’s chest almost brushes yours; Mikey’s body feels like a shield behind you.

Richie leans in slightly, and you catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and something familiar, something you’ve missed.

Your breath hitches.

Mikey’s hand moves from your back to your waist, steady but firm. You feel every second stretch out between the three of you — the hesitation, the longing, the silent question hanging in the air.

Then Richie’s lips press softly against yours — tentative, testing — a kiss filled with years of things unsaid and feelings too complicated for words. You melt into the kiss, heart pounding wildly as you lean forward, fingers gripping Mikey’s shirt for balance.

Before you can fully process it, Mikey’s lips brush your cheek — a tender, loving kiss, warm and slow — then trail down to your neck, feather-light and electrifying. Your breath catches again, a mix of shock and something tender blooming in your chest. The three of you stand there, tangled in this delicate dance of emotion — two men who have been your constants, your chaos, your home.

Richie’s hand cups your jaw, fingers trembling slightly. Mikey’s arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. You close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you — nervous, thrilling, terrifying, and perfect all at once . Breaking the kiss, Richie’s voice is soft, almost a whisper. “We’ve always been this close, haven’t we?” Mikey nods against your hair. “More than friends. More than we admitted.” You take a shaky breath, heart racing. “But what now?” Richie looks at you with those honest eyes. “I don’t know.” Mikey’s smile is small but sure. “Maybe we don’t have to know yet.” You laugh quietly, the tension easing but never quite leaving. The night feels alive with possibility and fragile promises — a beginning tangled with the past. And as the three of you stand together under the stars, you know nothing will ever be the same again.

You’re still resting your head against Mikey’s chest when he gently lifts your chin, his fingers brushing softly along your jawline. His eyes search yours with a quiet intensity, and slowly, carefully, he lowers his face to meet yours. The kiss is soft at first, a delicate meeting of lips that sends a rush of warmth through your body.

At the same time, Richie leans in close from the front, his breath warm against your neck before he presses a light, lingering kiss there. You close your eyes, caught between the two of them—two people who’ve known you forever, who’ve been your constant through every twist and turn.

The warm breeze brushes against your skin as you lean back against the cool grass, your heart racing. Mikey’s hands roam your sides, fingers exploring the curves of your body. His lips are soft against yours, igniting a fire that spreads through you.

You can feel Richie behind you, his breath warm against your neck as he leans in closer. “-Mikey,” you whisper, feeling the thrill of his body pressing against yours, the weight of him both comforting and exciting.

Richie’s hands find your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to send shivers down your spine. You turn your head to meet his gaze, and the look he gives you is filled with desire. With a shared glance, the tension builds, and you pull Mikey closer, deepening the kiss as Richie’s hands slide around your waist, pulling you into him. It’s a delicious mix of sensations, the overwhelming heat of their bodies against yours.

“-Mikey, let’s take this somewhere more… private,” Richie suggests, his voice low and suggestive. You nod, breathless, as they help you to your feet, leading you toward the shadows of the garden.

Once outside, the moonlight bathes everything in a silvery glow, heightening your senses. Mikey pulls you in for another kiss as Richie’s hands start to explore your body again, igniting every inch of your skin. The world fades away, leaving just the three of you tangled in desire. As you sink to the ground together, the grass beneath you feels alive with electricity.

Mikey’s hands find their way to your thighs, spreading them apart as Richie kneels beside you. You feel the heat of their bodies, their hands roaming freely, each touch igniting something deep within.

“-Are you ready for us?” Mikey asks, his voice a low growl that sends shivers through you.

You nod, caught in the moment, the anticipation building as they exchange glances filled with an unspoken agreement. They take their time, each touch intentional, every kiss igniting a new flame as you surrender to the chaos of pleasure. You’re lost in a whirlwind of bodies, lips, and hands, the world outside disappearing as you embrace this wild, unforgettable night —--------

Richie’s hand found yours, fingers curling around yours like a lifeline. Mikey rested his head lightly against your shoulder, his breath warm and steady, syncing with yours in the quiet night. The three of you were cocooned in a fragile bubble, away from judgment, from noise, from the inevitable changes that your new relationship would bring.

Richie broke the silence first, his voice low and almost hesitant. “-I don’t think I ever thought this—us—could actually be real. Like, the three of us, together. But here we are.” His eyes searched yours, shining bright with a mixture of wonder and worry.

You squeezed his hand, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “-I know. It’s... a lot. And honestly, I’m scared. What happens when everyone finds out? What happens when people start asking questions?”

Mikey lifted his head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “-They don’t have to know. Not now. Not ever, if we don’t want them to. This can be our secret world. A place only we share.” His voice was soft, like a whisper meant to soothe the growing knot of anxiety inside you.

Richie nodded, but his jaw tightened. “-Yeah. A secret. But secrets can hurt. What if someone finds out? What if it changes how people see us... how they see you?”

Tears shimmered at the edges of your eyes, threatening to spill over. “-I’m scared of losing who I am,” you admitted, voice trembling. “And scared of losing you both. If this changes everything, what if it breaks us instead of building us?” Mikey shifted, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “-You’re not losing anything. You’re gaining. Us. We’re here, together, and that means something. No matter what anyone else thinks.”

Richie let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his voice surprised you. “-I’m scared too. Scared I’ll mess this up. Scared I’m not enough for both of you. But I promise... I’m going to try. With everything I have.”

The stars above seemed to flicker in approval, their light delicate and constant. You reached out, tracing gentle circles on Richie’s hand, then slid your arm around Mikey’s neck, holding them both close.

“-I don’t want to be anywhere else but here, with you,” you whispered. “Even if it means hiding it all from the world. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I care about us. About you. And I promise... I’ll do everything to protect what we have.” Richie smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek as he leaned his forehead against yours. “-¨-We’ll protect it. Together.” Mikey nodded, his own eyes glistening. “-Forever. No matter what comes.”

For a long moment, you just breathed in each other’s presence — the warmth, the steady heartbeats, the quiet love that had grown between you in the stillness of the night. The fear was still there, raw and real, but so was the hope. And the promise. “-We’ll keep our secret safe,” you said softly. “Like a little world of our own under these stars.” Richie kissed your forehead gently. “-Our secret universe.” Mikey smiled, eyes full of quiet joy. “-No matter what the world says... we’ll be okay. Because we have each other.”

And beneath the vast, endless sky, wrapped in a blanket and each other’s arms, you believed it. The tears, the fears—they didn’t vanish, but they no longer felt like chains. They were the fragile threads weaving you closer, binding you in a promise of love, loyalty, and unbreakable bonds. .---------

The night air had grown colder, and after a while, the three of you slowly untangled yourselves from the blanket, the warmth of your bodies reluctantly giving way to the crispness of the evening.

Richie stood first, brushing off a few stray blades of grass from his jeans. “Alright,” he muttered, voice softer now, “we should probably clean up a bit before we head inside. Can’t show up like we’ve been rolling in the dirt all night.”

Mikey laughed quietly, ruffling his hair as he stood and helped you to your feet. “Yeah, unless you want the kitchen to think we’re a bunch of wild animals.”

You smiled, wiping your hands on your pants before running your fingers through your hair. “I guess the stars and grass aren’t exactly five-star accommodations, huh?”

Richie chuckled as he pulled the blanket from the grass and folded it neatly. “-Nah, but it’s ours. For now.”

The three of you walked back toward the house, the quiet crunch of grass underfoot the only sound accompanying your steps. Inside, the warmth of the kitchen wrapped around you like a comforting hug.

You each washed your hands quickly at the sink, exchanging quiet glances and shy smiles. Richie grabbed a couple of apples from the counter, while Mikey pulled out some peanut butter and a knife.

As you settled around the kitchen table, the soft hum of the refrigerator filling the space, Richie broke the silence. “-You know, it’s funny... I never thought about it before, but I think I started noticing you two a long time ago. Even back when we were just kids messing around.”

Richie looked down at his hands for a moment, the corners of his mouth softening. “-I think the moment I really started liking you was way before prom. Do you remember that summer night when we stayed out late, just sitting on the roof? Everyone else had gone inside, but the three of us stayed up talking about our stupid dreams and fears. You were so honest, telling us about how scared you were about the future, and I just... I don’t know, I realized then how much you meant to me.”. And fuck, I felt like a dirty bastard thinking about you too”

You leaned forward slightly, the old ache of the memory still sharp but softened now by time—and by love. “I think I realized how I felt when Richie took Tiff to prom,” you admitted. “The three of us were supposed to go together, just hang out, maybe mess around after. But you ditched us, Richie. And you danced with her when you little shit hated dancing.”

​​Richie’s face fell, remorse flickering across his features. “Shit... I didn’t think it would hurt like that. I thought it was just a dance.”

“I know,” you said, smiling sadly. “It’s dumb, right? But I remember how jealous I was. Not because you took someone else, but because I wanted you to want us. I realized I didn’t just want you as my friend—I wanted more. And seeing you walk in with her like that... it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.”

Mikey’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling like he could still see the stars through it. He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I think I started feeling it the night of prom too,” he said slowly. “But not the same way you did.”

You and Richie both looked at him.

“I remember standing inside the gym, sweating through that dumb suit, trying to keep it together,” he continued. “Richie came in with Tiff, and I don’t know... it hit me like a punch to the gut. There was this weird feeling in my stomach. Like something was wrong, but I couldn’t explain it. I told myself it was just ‘cause we were supposed to go together, the three of us, no big deal... but then I saw him dancing with her. And I couldn’t look away.”

His voice got quieter. “You were standing next to me, and I could feel how tense you were. I knew you were hurt. And I didn’t know what to do, so I asked you to dance.” You nodded slowly, remembering the slow song, the sticky gym floor, how your chest ached more with every step.

Mikey swallowed, eyes meeting yours. “And the whole time I was dancing with you, I kept looking at your face, and seeing how disappointed you were. It made that feeling in my stomach worse. Like something was cracking open inside me.” He let out a shaky breath. “I think that’s when I realized... I didn’t just care about you both. I needed you. And the idea of either of you being with someone else? It made me feel sick. It wasn’t just friendship anymore. I just didn’t know what the hell to do with it back then.”

You assumed he’d gone out early — maybe to meet Richie for breakfast, maybe to run errands, maybe just to breathe for a second in a city that never shut the fuck up. Mikey had a habit of disappearing for an hour or two. Always came back with something — bagels, records, stories you didn’t want to believe but loved anyway.

You thought you'd hear the door any minute. Hear that voice, hoarse from a life of yelling and laughing and cigarettes, grumbling about traffic or the price of gas or some weird dream he had.

But the door didn’t open.

Not that hour.

Not the next.

It came in the form of a knock.

You remember the sound because it felt wrong. Polite. Out of place.

You opened the door and Sugar was crying before you could even ask.

Behind her, Richie.

Face pale. Eyes wide. Silent in a way you didn’t know he could be.

He looked at you like a man watching a train wreck he couldn't stop. Like someone about to make the worst thing real.

You said his name.

He said yours.

“Bunny… you need to sit down.”

“I’m fine,” you said. “Where’s Mikey?”

Richie’s mouth opened, then closed. His hands were shaking. He looked at Sugar, who looked like she was trying to hold her face together with her own hands.

You remember her voice. You’ll remember it forever:

“He’s gone.”

—----

The thing about grief is no one teaches you how to do it when it’s secret.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to rip something off the wall, throw plates, collapse onto the floor, tear your throat raw with his name — but all you could do was sit there, blinking, trying not to fall apart in front of people who thought he was only your friend.

Even Sugar didn’t know. Not really. Not the full truth. Not about how many nights you’d spent in a bed tangled with both of them. Not how Mikey used to sleep with one hand on your hip and the other intertwined with Richie’s. Not how you once told them both you didn’t know where you ended and they began — and they smiled like they knew exactly what you meant.

But now?

Now you were alone in a grief no one could validate.

No one brought you casseroles.

No one gave you their seat at the service.

You were just “the friend.”

The one who looked too calm.

The one who “took it well.”

If they only knew.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The funeral passed in blurs.

You stood beside Richie like a shadow. The two of you didn’t speak much. You didn’t need to. Every breath was a scream you were trying to hold inside.

He held your waist during the service. Lightly. Like if he touched you too hard, you'd shatter.

When the priest talked about legacy and letting go, Richie turned his head just enough for you to hear him whisper:

“Fuck that.”

You didn’t laugh. Couldn’t. But part of you wanted to kiss him right there, in the front pew, in full view — just to prove that grief didn’t have to be neat. That Mikey wasn’t some past-tense saint. He was yours. He was still here, somewhere between your ribs, between Richie’s shaking hands and your quiet rage.

At the cemetery, your legs stopped working.

You didn’t realize it until Richie’s arm caught you, holding you up as they lowered the casket into the dirt.

Every inch they buried him felt like the air was being sucked out of the world.

There was no music. No breeze. Just the sound of shovels hitting ground and people sniffling behind dark sunglasses.

You put his gold chain in with him. The one he wore every other day without even realizing. The one you’d given them on a random Tuesday in July because “Tuesday needed something good.”

You stood by his grave long after everyone else had gone.

Even Sugar, even Donna.

Only Richie stayed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ground was cold. Not just because it was February, but because it was empty now. That hole in the earth felt like a wound carved right into the city, right into your chest.

You stood there, your feet rooted, your heart hollow and screaming at the same time.

Richie’s arm around your waist was weak — like a desperate promise. You wanted to lean into it, wanted to collapse completely, but your body wouldn’t listen.

You looked down at the coffin. Dark wood, polished, final. It sat so still, as if waiting for Mikey to walk out the door with a joke or a curse.

But he wasn’t coming back.

You noticed the flowers. White lilies and roses, too perfect, too quiet. The fork. The gold chain you had bought him, cold now, resting on his chest beneath the fabric.

They lowered him, inch by inch, and every shovelful of dirt was like a hammer smashing inside your ribs.

You couldn’t breathe.

Not properly.

Your mind spiraled.

He was here yesterday. He was laughing, cooking, yelling at Richie for something dumb. I was there. We were okay. How do you disappear when you’re okay?

The sky stayed gray, silent. A single crow croaked somewhere in the distance.

You looked at Richie. His face was broken in a way you hadn’t seen before. Pale skin stretched tight over his cheekbones, eyes red-rimmed and glassy.

He whispered, “Bunny, we have to go soon. It’s getting late.”

You shook your head without turning.

“I don’t want him to sleep alone. He hated sleeping alone,” you muttered, voice cracked and small, barely louder than the wind.

Richie’s hands tightened on your waist. “Bunn…”

The cold air bit at your skin, but you barely noticed. The weight of the silence around Mikey’s grave was heavier than any winter chill.

You stood stiff beside Richie, the freshly turned earth between you both like a crack in your world you couldn’t cross.

Your voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper. “Why, Richie? Why would Mikey… do this? How could he just… leave like that?”

Richie’s jaw clenched hard. He swallowed, eyes fixed on the dirt that now held your love.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, voice raw. “I wish I did.”

You swallowed hard, fists clenched tight by your sides. “Didn’t he think about us? About me? About you? About the three of us? Why didn’t he say goodbye?”

Richie’s eyes flicked to you, shining wet in the fading light. “He was fighting, harder than we saw. Some battles… you don’t always win.”

You shook your head, tears spilling. “But we were his family. He could’ve told us. We could’ve helped.”

He looked away, voice breaking. “He wanted to protect you. He wanted to protect all of us. That’s why he hid it.”

You let out a bitter laugh, sharp and painful. “Protect us? By leaving us shattered and broken?”

Richie’s hand found yours, trembling as he squeezed. “I don’t have answers. I don’t know why he felt so alone that he thought this was the only way.”

You looked down at the grave, the finality of it crashing over you.

“And now?” you whispered. “What do we do with this pain?”

Richie’s voice was barely a breath. “We carry it. We carry him.”

But carrying felt impossible.

Because some wounds never heal.

“Why did this happen, Rich?” Your voice was sharp, trembling. “He was okay. We were okay. I woke up and he wasn’t there — and...” You broke down, gasping, chest heaving like you couldn’t fill your lungs. “I don’t understand!”

Richie tried to say something, but you cut him off.

“Why?!” you yelled, pulling your hair like you could rip the answers out of your head. “He was okay. He... we were okay! They’re saying he...”

You sobbed, eyes wild.

Richie’s voice was soft, cracked, almost unbearable. “I know what they’re saying, bunny.”

Your eyes locked on his. “Was it true? That he was taking pills and...”

“He was, bunny.”

You staggered back like you’d been punched. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t I see it? Why?” Your voice broke again, more desperate than angry.

Richie’s hands lifted to reach for you, but you pulled away.

“We didn’t want you to know.”

You stared at him, heart raw and eyes burning.

“You knew?” you whispered, voice shattering. “You fucking knew?”

He swallowed hard, tears threatening. “We decided it was best for you not to see that. There was no point in you knowing any of it.”

You covered your face, crushed by the betrayal and sorrow. You couldn’t stop crying.

He stepped closer, arms outstretched, trying to comfort.

But your hands hit him.

“This is your fault!” you screamed, voice hoarse. “This!” You pointed at Mikey’s grave. “This would never have happened if you’d told me! You did this!”

He caught your wrists, eyes pleading.

“Hey, this isn’t—”

“You did this!” you repeated, voice raw and ragged. “You could’ve done something, and you didn’t!”

Richie’s eyes glistened with pain and regret, holding your trembling arms gently.

“Don’t touch me!” you snapped, pulling away. “You—” Your gaze fell back on Mikey’s grave, the place where everything you had was buried.

You walked away without looking back.

—---

The apartment was cold in a way that no heater could fix. The kind of cold that slips under your skin and settles in your bones. Every corner held a memory of Mikey — his half-empty coffee mug, the crooked picture frame with the three of you laughing on the couch, the lingering scent of his cologne, faint but persistent like a ghost refusing to leave.

You sat on the edge of the bed, clutching his old hoodie tighter than you needed to, as if squeezing it would squeeze him back to life. But all it did was crumple the fabric and tear at your fingers.

Your chest felt like it was trapped in a vice, squeezing tighter with every breath you tried to take. The air was thick, heavy with the silence of all the things unsaid — the secrets you had buried deep with Mikey, the lies you told yourself to survive.

You thought about that day at the cemetery, how you had screamed at Richie, how you’d slammed your fists against him, accusing him like he was the cause of the impossible. The truth was, it wasn’t just Richie’s silence that shattered you — it was Mikey’s.

Mikey, who hid pills in the back of the medicine cabinet, who wore a mask so perfectly that even you couldn’t see the cracks.

Mikey, who had made a deal with Richie — a deal that meant you were kept in the dark. Not out of malice, but because they thought you were fragile, because they wanted to protect you from the darkness that had started swallowing Mikey whole.

But protecting you was the cruelest betrayal of all.

You whispered his name over and over in the dark, a mantra of loss and longing. Mikey, Mikey, Mikey... The word tasted like ash on your tongue.

You remembered the nights where the three of you had been tangled in bed, hearts beating fast, breaths shallow, pretending that the world outside couldn’t touch you — that love alone was enough to hold the pieces together.

But it wasn’t.

Because love didn’t save Mikey.

Because love didn’t save any of you.

You ran your hands over the cold sheets, imagining them wrapped around his body. The heaviness of him gone was a physical ache, dragging you down into a place where the walls closed in, and the past whispered its betrayals loud and sharp.

You hated that the world saw him as just your friend, or Richie’s brother, or some bright light snuffed out too soon. They didn’t know about the way he had loved you both — fiercely, recklessly, in a language only the three of you spoke.

That secret love, hidden away in stolen moments and quiet smiles, now felt like a cruel joke — a beautiful thing that no one would ever understand.

Your tears burned your cheeks as you whispered a bitter truth: sometimes, the worst part about losing someone isn’t that they’re gone, but that you never got to tell the world exactly what they meant to you

—-----

A few months earlier

The apartment was dark except for the kitchen light. Mikey was leaning on the counter, hands shaking as he lit a cigarette he never smoked. Richie stood across from him, arms folded, rage simmering just under his skin.

“You can’t do this, Mikey,” Richie said, low and furious. “What the fuck, man?”

“You don’t understand,” Mikey mumbled, pacing now, eyes red and glassy.

“Don’t give me that shit. You think I don’t see it? You’re not eating. You’re ghosting people. You got shit stashed in the f***ing toilet tank.”

Mikey sighed hard and looked at Richie, finally still. “I’m trying. Okay? I’m really f***ing trying.”

“No, you’re hiding. From her. From me.”

Mikey stepped closer, grabbed Richie’s face with both hands, rough and affectionate like he always did when things got real.

“I know, I know, fuck me. But never around her, alright?” he said, their foreheads touching. “Not around her. Not around you. I don’t want to be that guy when I’m with you.”

Richie’s eyes filled up instantly. He gritted his teeth, nodded.

“I’ll cover for you,” he whispered. “But you have to get clean. You owe her that.”

“I know,” Mikey said, barely audible. “I just… I don’t know how.”

—--

The cemetery was darker now. The sun is gone. The clouds are heavier.

Richie stood by the grave alone.

The dirt freshly turned. The flowers limp already. Mikey’s name carved into stone, quiet and permanent.

Richie shoved his hands deep into his pockets, stared down, and finally let it all break loose. His shoulders shook. His chest caved in. Tears spilled fast, harder than he expected.

That day, he lost the loves of his life.

Mikey. And you.

-----

a/n: hello my loves!!!!! I hope you enjoy this part :) or not :(

You turned the photo face-down and stood up abruptly, your chair screeching behind you as you stormed out of the office.

Forty minutes ‘til service. And there he was — him, Richie — planted in front of the old arcade cabinet like a damn teenager. Shoulders hunched, chain glinting under the kitchen lights. The one you got him for his birthday. He still wore it. Even now.

“Keep it down. Adults are trying to work,” you snapped, arms crossed, eyes sharp on his baby blue ones.

He didn’t even flinch. Just scoffed, eyes glued to the game. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

“Fuck off, Bunny,” he muttered. Still not looking at you.

“Excuse me?” you gasped. “You are such a fucking kid, Richie.”

“Me? I’m the fucking kid?” He finally turned, eyes flashing. “Shut the fuck up!”

“I am not shutting the fuck up, Richard! You’re so fucking loud, and you don’t let me think for one goddamn second. You’re a walking noise violation.”

“Oh, real mature. Jesus, you little—”

“—What the fuck is happening in here?!”

Carmy’s voice slammed into the room like a dropped pot. He looked between you and Richie, hair a mess, apron stained, completely over it.

“Can you two not fight for five fucking minutes? Is that really that hard? What the fuck happened to the both of you?”

You and Richie froze. Carmy stood there, arms raised, mouth still half-open like he couldn’t believe he had to do this again.

He didn’t understand it. None of them did. He’d missed too much. The years, the layers. Mikey. Sugar. You.

But you and Richie? That one hit different.

You two were the ones everyone counted on. You were glue. You were loud and chaotic and stupid together, but you were safe. A team. Carmy used to look at you two and think, At least someone around here knows how to hold shit together.

Now it was like watching two live wires snap.

“You were best friends,” Carmy said, voice lower now. “What the fuck happened?”

You looked at him. Really looked. The dark circles under his eyes, the twitch in his jaw, the exhaustion pressed deep into his bones. The same kind of tired Mikey used to wear. And just like that, your anger deflated — but only halfway.

You sighed. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ll go back to the office,” you said quietly. You pointed a finger at Richie as you walked away. “Just keep it down, please.”

Richie rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. Just watched you walk away.

Carmy turned to him. “Seriously, what the fuck is going on with you two, cousin?”

“Shut the fuck up, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie muttered.

“I don’t? Because it looks like you’re about two seconds from throwing hands every time you’re in the same room.”

“It’s none of your damn business, Carm.”

“It is when it’s dragging the whole place down with you.”

Carmy’s voice cracked a little on that last word. He ran a hand through his hair again, mouth tight. “Mikey would’ve hated this shit.”

Richie flinched.

Carmy noticed. And regretted it the second it left his mouth.

Richie looked down, jaw clenched. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“You think he’s not already in it?” Carmy said, softer now. “He’s always in it, Rich.”

But Richie didn’t answer. He just turned and pushed through the back door, letting it slam behind him.

______________________________________________________________

Outside, the air was thick and hot, the kind of sticky Chicago summer heat that felt like it could suffocate you from the inside out. Richie leaned against the brick wall, staring at the alleyway like it might hold answers if he looked hard enough.

But there were no answers.

Just questions he didn’t want to ask.

Where did things go wrong?

He didn’t even know. Maybe it was always doomed. Maybe the minute they all started lying to each other, things were set to crack. And he’d been lying to you for a long time.

He told himself it was to protect you. Told himself Mikey would've wanted it that way. That you didn’t need to carry what they carried. That you deserved to remember Mikey as the golden one. The one who told the best stories, who could make you laugh when you wanted to cry. Not the one they found…

But that protection turned into silence. Then distance. Then resentment. And now here you were — still close, still around, but only in the physical sense. Like ghosts haunting the same place for different reasons.

He tried not to think about the night of the funeral. The yelling. The way you looked at him like he’d taken something from you and wouldn’t give it back. The moment he almost said something — almost told you the truth. About the pills. About Mikey’s last weeks. About what he knew, what he saw, what he did not do.

But he didn’t.

Because he was a coward. And maybe worse — he thought he could fix it without you.

Now the damage was done, and he didn’t even know where to start patching it.

Don’t go there, he told himself.

But he already had.

His fingers toyed with the chain around his neck — the one you gave him, back when you still gave him things. It was worn now, the gold dulled from time and sweat and bad decisions. But he still wore it.

He still cared.

More than he should, maybe.

He took a deep breath, leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed.

He could still hear your voice in his head. That laugh. The one that used to drive him crazy in a good way. The one he’d kill to hear now without a sneer attached to it.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep pretending like you weren’t everything tangled in the part of his life he missed the most. You. Mikey. The feeling that things were okay.

But they weren’t. Not anymore. Maybe not ever again.

He exhaled slowly, letting the breath drag out of him.

“Fuck it,” he said to no one.

“Maybe I kinda deserve it.”