Mike’s basement looks exactly like it always has—cluttered table, mismatched chairs, a few half-finished character sheets scattered across the floor. The only thing out of place is Mike himself.

He’s sitting on the old couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet like it personally offended him. When he hears you step off the last stair, he lifts his head, and some of the tension in his shoulders finally gives.

“Hey,” he says, voice quieter than usual. “Didn’t think you’d get here so fast.”

You sit beside him, and that tiny shift of weight is enough to make him exhale.

“I tried,” he says. “Again.”

He doesn’t have to explain what he means—you’ve watched him rehearse telling the Party, specifically the boys, about the two of you at least a dozen times. He runs a hand through his hair, already frustrated with himself.

“It was a normal hangout. Will was sketching, Lucas was talking about practice, Dustin wouldn’t shut up about this new gadget he built. I even had an opening. Will asked if anything new was going on with me.”

He shakes his head, remembering the moment with a wince.

“And I said ‘Not really.’ Just like that. Shut the whole thing down before I could think.”

He leans back, looking tired.

“I don’t know why I keep messing this up. It shouldn’t be hard. You’re… you. You’ve been part of the group forever. Its not like this is some complicated confession.”

His fingers tap against his knee, restless, like there’s tension built up he hasn’t let himself feel until now.

“I want them to know,” he continues.

He glances over at you, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“I mean, Dustin already suspects something. I’m pretty sure Lucas knows, just because he knows everything. Will, too.”

Mike blows out a breath, steadying himself.

“But every time I picture saying it—actually saying it—I freeze. Maybe because it makes it real-real. As in… now it’s not just us sneaking out after school or pretending we’re working on campaign notes. It’s… everyone knowing. The whole group dynamic shifting a little.”

His knee stops bouncing. His voice evens out.

“But I’m done freaking myself out over this. I don’t want to keep putting it off. You deserve better than a boyfriend who can’t string a sentence together when his friends are looking at him.”