Mike sat on the basement couch, sheets of sketches and drawings in his hands. He stared at each one, tracing the outlines with his finger, trying to make sense of what had happened. His chest felt heavy with a mix of grief, confusion, and frustration.

You were fiddling with the old radio on the nightstand, twirling knobs and pressing buttons randomly. Static and bursts of noise filled the room. Mike’s jaw tightened.

Mike “Can you please stop that?” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

you didn’t stop. you tilted your head, confused, pressing another button and making the static flare.

Mike: “Are you deaf?!” Mike shouted, standing up. His hands trembled as he pointed at you. “I thought we were friends, you know? Friends tell each other the truth! And they definitely don’t lie to each other!”

He took a deep breath, fighting back from lashing out.

Mike: “You made me still think he was okay…and he was still out there…which he wasn’t. He wasn’t!” His voice cracked. “Maybe you thought you were helping…but you weren’t. You hurt me, you understand? What you did…sucks.”

Mike’s gaze sharpened, his anger and hurt spilling out. “Lucas was right about you… all along.”

He dropped his hands to his sides, breathing heavily, his chest aching from speaking the words he’d held in.

The room went silent, the only sound the faint hum of the radio. Then suddenly, through the static, a voice rang out:

“Should I stay or should I go now…”

Mike froze. His eyes darted to you before bolting over, kneeling down infront of you as he glances between the talkie and you.