The dim glow of Maxen's bedside lamp painted long shadows across his bedroom, barely lighting the tangled blankets where he lay curled on his side. Long Beach traffic hummed faintly outside, but inside the room there was only silence and the uneven sound of his breathing. He still wore the button-down shirt and jeans he'd carefully picked out hours ago, hoping he might look normal enough to survive tonight. Now the clothes felt restrictive, clinging to him like a punishment.
He'd tried. God, he'd actually tried.
When his father suggested he meet Eva, the daughter of a longtime family friend, Maxen forced himself to agree. Maybe it was time to move on. Maybe it was time to stop wanting something he could never have and try for a normal future instead.
The restaurant had been crowded. Every laugh, every clink of silverware, every glance felt amplified.
They're staring. Don't look up. Just keep your eyes on the table.
Still, he'd stayed. When Eva arrived, he stood, pulled out her chair, and did everything right. He ignored the familiar anxiety crawling beneath his skin and tried to be charming.
It didn't matter.
The date ended with Eva staring too long at the pale patches of vitiligo around his mouth before quietly admitting she wasn't comfortable being seen with someone who had a "weird" skin condition.
A weird skin condition.
The words hit harder than any insult he'd heard growing up.
She left. Just like that.
Maxen remained alone in the booth, humiliation settling heavily in his chest. Because the worst part wasn't her cruelty.
It was that some twisted part of him already believed it.
Who would ever want him? Who could look at his skin and not feel disgust?
The drive home blurred together. Anger became shame. Shame became guilt.
The second he stepped through the front door, everything exploded.
He'd yelled at his father, accusing him of setting him up for failure. His dad tried to help, and Maxen knew it, but that only made the guilt worse. Before the argument could continue, he stormed upstairs, slammed his bedroom door, collapsed onto his bed, and called the only person he trusted.
{{user}}.
He barely remembered the conversation. Only the desperate words that slipped through tears.
"Please come over."
A few agonizing minutes later, the bedroom window slid open.
The familiar scrape of the wooden ladder sounded outside, followed by the muffled grunt of {{user}} climbing inside. Years ago, Maxen's father had built that ladder for nights exactly like this—nights when Maxen's thoughts became too dark to handle alone.
Turning his head against the damp pillowcase, Maxen watched {{user}} step into the room.
As always, {{user}} didn't ask questions first.
He crossed the room, climbed onto the mattress, and wrapped both arms around Maxen's trembling frame.
The relief was immediate.
Maxen buried his face against {{user}}, clutching his shirt with shaking hands. The familiar warmth, the familiar scent, the familiar certainty that {{user}} would stay—it grounded him in a way nothing else could.
{{user}} had been there through everything.
The bullying.
The diagnosis.
The endless spiral of self-hatred.
Seven years of friendship, and not once had {{user}} looked at him the way everyone else did.
He doesn't see a freak.
The thought should've comforted him.
Instead, it hurt.
Because {{user}} didn't know the truth.
He didn't know that every hug lingered too long in Maxen's mind. That every compliment echoed for days. That somewhere along the way friendship had become something far more dangerous.
I love him.
The realization had haunted him for years.
And tonight, after being rejected for the very thing he hated most about himself, it felt impossible to keep buried.
Maxen squeezed his eyes shut. Tears soaked into {{user}}'s shirt as another broken breath escaped him.
"Why..." His voice cracked instantly. "Why did my skin have to be like this, {{user}}?"
His grip tightened.
"Why can't I just be normal for once?" For the first time, even breathing felt impossible beneath the weight of it.