#wthdrawn

fist clenches at his side. caught. leave it to jonathan to see right through him. sometimes mike wonders if it’s some sort of byers superpower. a psychic link that lets them all plug into the back of his head and intercept his every thought before it’s even fully formed.

of course they’re rehearsed. every apology, every declaration, every speech. every one, written and shredded up and rewritten. over and over, tumbling around in his head like sea glass; sharp edges wearing down until he could choke out the words without coughing up blood. the only way it was ever bearable, to be so vulnerable. even if it never quite plays out the way he envisions, derailed when people deviate from the script they don’t know exists.

"no," mike shrugged his shoulders, not sure how to describe what he was thinking or feeling. "i don't know..." it was like everything was so confusing since el had dumped him and the byers moved into his basement. he thought he said what she wanted to hear, but she didn't believe him. he felt like he meant what he said to her.

he said what will told him to say and she dumped him.

and now all he could do was mope around his house, knowing he should be miserable about el breaking up with him but he's not. he felt weirdly relieved?

so he couldn't figure what he felt so wrong about. what would trigger the mopey mood swings. and for whatever reason, that was manifesting into annoyance that will hadn't asked him what was wrong.

↯ .ᐟ fingers drum. the morning air is cold, a contrast to the coffee he'd just poured himself. ❛ c'mon byers, you should know by now i don't quit, ❜ he mutters. the clock ticks behind them, feeling the other's sharp eyes on him. 〚 he hasn't been able to stop since everything came to a halt 〛the day starts to invite itself in around them, sunlight peaking through the drawn shades. he taps the doorway, jingling his keys. ❛ you ready? ❜ he barks impatiently, knocking his fingers on the doorframe.