Inspired by“Guilty Conscience” — Tate McRae

You had been avoiding him. For days. Not ignoring him completely — but giving him short answers, walking away first, choosing other people to talk to. And Mikey… didn’t know how to handle it. He replayed everything in his head. Every word. Every moment. Every time he might’ve said something wrong without realizing. He wasn’t good at emotions. He wasn’t good at noticing what hurt people. But he was good at guilt. And he felt it now — heavy, clawing at his insides, telling him he did something he shouldn’t have.

He finally found you behind the school, sitting alone on the cold concrete steps. He approached slowly. You didn’t look up. And that hurt him more than any punch ever had. He sat one step below you — small, unthreatening, ready to be punished if you wanted. He didn’t speak for a long time. Then, quietly: “…I messed up, didn’t I?” You didn’t deny it. Your silence was enough. He swallowed hard, staring at the ground. “I don’t… always know what I’m doing,” he said, voice raw. “I don’t always know when I’m hurting someone I care about.” His hands trembled on his knees. “But I know I hurt you. And I hate that I did.”

The silence thickened — heavy, painful. Mikey looked up, and his eyes were full of every fear he never voiced: Fear of losing you. Fear of messing up again. Fear of not being enough. “I’ll fix it,” he whispered. “Whatever I did… I’ll fix it. Just don’t pull away from me. Don’t leave.”