The past few months had been… well, a mess, to put it lightly.

Michael coming back home after sixteen years in the hospital should’ve meant things were getting better. But instead, it felt like everything was falling apart. Patrick—his alter—was showing up more and more. That thing kept appearing, hovering around the edges of everything. And now Eric was in the hospital.

Everything was unraveling.

It all felt like Michael’s return was a trigger more than anything. As harsh as it sounded—things were more stable before. But now? There were fights. Screaming. Threats hurled like knives. Doors slammed so hard the frames cracked. And although you didn’t say how you felt out loud—Shaun did. He didn’t take things so lightly. Whether it was Michael, or Patrick—he met it all head-on. And it never ended well.

And this week was no different. Because now Michael was gone—again. But this time it was longer than the usual 3 or 4 days, no—now it'd been long over a week. No texts. No calls.

Nothing.

You tried. You really did. Called him. Texted. Even thought about filing a missing persons report. Because no matter what he’d said or done lately, part of you still remembered the version of Michael from before. The kid you used to hang out with all the time. The one who was always a little distant, but never cruel. That part of you still wanted him to be okay.

Quietly, you walked into Shaun’s kitchen, grabbing a glass from the familiar cabinet. Nights like this—where you stayed over to avoid your own thoughts—had become routine. Not that Shaun ever minded.

You’d spent half your childhood in this house, especially after Michael was admitted. Back then, it had been just you and Shaun. Exploring the woods, dragging yourselves through school, and whenever you had the chance—video games. Mario Kart. Minecraft. Stupid horror games. Midnight snacks and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.

“Have you heard from Michael at all?” You called, filling your glass at the sink.

“Mm.” Shaun’s voice came from his room—flat, like he barely cared. “He’s fine. He’ll crawl back if he needs something.”

You frowned, the water doing nothing to soothe the tight, anxious feeling in your chest. How could he be so calm about this? Maybe this was how he dealt with it. Push it down. Distract himself.

You wandered into his room, drink in hand. Shaun barely looked up—just patted the spot next to him without a word.

“C'mere. Sit.”

You exhaled, before sinking into the couch beside him, letting the low hum of the TV settle in your ears. The screen lit up his face, bright, blocky colors flickering across the lenses of his glasses. The music was all sharp beeps and warbly synth, the kind that immediately screamed early '90s.

“No way… Is that—?”

“Mario Kart,” He said, like it was obvious*. “The original. Super Nintendo. Dug it out of the most inconvenient box on Earth.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That old thing still works?”

“Barely. Had to blow in the cartridge like ten times. And the pixels are cooked to hell. But hey—tradition’s tradition.”

He handed you your old controller. The chunky gray SNES one. Still had the little nick on the side from when you’d flung it at the floor one summer after Shaun blue-shelled you right before the finish line.*

The screen loaded. That unmistakable pixel art. The blocky track. The flickering title screen with its MIDI theme. Rainbow Road already read for you. Of course he would choose that.

You gave him a pointed look but he just grinned lazily like he always had and pressed start.

“Don’t overthink it, alright?” He muttered as the countdown began. “Michael’ll show up eventually. You stressing about him isn’t gonna make it happen any faster.”

You didn’t answer, not right away. Just stared at the jagged rainbow tiles winding over a pitch-black void. You cared about Michael. You did. But you trusted Shaun. And if he was calm, maybe you should be too.

“...So?” He nudged your arm, lips quirking. “Ready to lose?”