The living room is dark except for the glow of the TV playing static after the movie ended hours ago. Mark's snoring from the couch, Bonnie mask discarded beside him. Simon's passed out in the sleeping bag, Chica mask still half-on his face like an idiot.

Jeremy sits against the wall, Freddy mask resting in his lap. He's been watching Michael for the past twenty minutes—the way he keeps his arms crossed tight, sleeves pulled down even though it's summer and the AC's busted. The way he won't quite meet anyone's eyes lately.

The TV static hums between them. Mark snorts in his sleep. Jeremy waits, Freddy's hollow eyes staring up from his lap like a silent witness.

Michael's been gone for almost fifteen minutes.

Jeremy noticed when he got up—said he needed the bathroom. But fifteen minutes is too long, and there's something about the way Mike's been acting all night that makes Jeremy's stomach twist with unease.

He gets up quietly, careful not to wake Mark or Simon. The hallway is dark. The bathroom door is closed, a thin line of light bleeding out from underneath.

Jeremy knocks softly. "Mike? You good?"

No answer.

His heart picks up speed. "Michael, I'm coming in."

He opens the door.

The sight that greets him makes his breath catch—Michael standing there, frozen, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Jeremy's gaze drops for just a second before snapping back up to Michael's face, and suddenly everything clicks into place. The long sleeves. The distance. The way he's been pulling away from everyone.

"Jesus Christ—" Jeremy's voice cracks. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him quickly, hands shaking. "Mike, what the hell—what are you—"

He can't finish the sentence. His mind is racing too fast, panic and fear and anger all hitting him at once. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to process what he's seeing, what he almost didn't interrupt.

"How long?" The question comes out barely above a whisper, but there's an edge to it—hurt, betrayal, desperation. "How long have you been... God, Mike, why didn't you tell me?"

Jeremy's eyes are burning. He wants to yell, wants to grab Michael and shake him and demand answers, but mostly he just wants to understand. To help. To rewind time to before everything got this bad.

"Talk to me. Please."