Endurance

The pounding at his door startled Michael out of a restless sleep. He'd been avoiding everyone for days, letting calls go to voicemail, responding to texts with vague excuses. He knew he couldn't hide forever, but he wasn't ready to face anyone yet—especially not after what happened with Shelly.

The knocking continued, more insistent this time.

"Michael! Open up, man. We know you're in there!" Doug's voice carried through the door, followed by Steven's more measured tone.

"Just checking if you're alive. Come on."

Michael dragged himself off the couch, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He hadn't shaved in days, and his apartment reflected his mental state—takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, clothes dropped wherever he'd stepped out of them.

He cracked open the door, wincing at the light from the hallway. "Now's not really a good time."

"It hasn't been a good time for three days," Steven said, pushing gently past him into the apartment. Doug followed, whistling low at the state of the place.

"Damn, Lewis. Did a tornado hit, or is this just your new aesthetic?"

Michael closed the door, leaning his forehead against it for a moment before turning to face his friends. "I've been busy."

"Busy ignoring our calls," Steven said, clearing space on the couch to sit down. "What's going on?"

Doug wandered to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator without asking. "Got any beer?"

"Help yourself," Michael muttered, though Doug already had a bottle in hand.

Steven studied Michael's face. "Seriously, what happened? You disappeared. We were worried."

Michael sank into the armchair across from Steven, his shoulders slumped. The weight of what he'd done pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe, harder still to form the words.

"I slept with Shelly," he finally said, the confession hanging in the air between them.

Doug choked on his beer. "You what?"

"I went to her place and..." Michael trailed off, staring at his hands.

"Holy shit," Doug said, a grin spreading across his face. "I knew it! I always said there was something between you two."

Steven shot Doug a warning look. "Not the time, man."

"What? I'm just saying what we were all thinking," Doug protested, dropping onto the couch beside Steven. "So, are you two like... together now?"

Michael shook his head, the motion causing a dull ache behind his eyes. "It's complicated."

"Because she's Abby's sister," Steven supplied.

"That, and..." Michael sighed. "I didn't plan for any of this to happen. I just wanted to talk to someone who understood. Someone who'd listen. I needed to feel something besides anger and disappointment, you know?"

"And you felt something, alright," Doug smirked.

"Shut up, Doug," Steven snapped.

Michael ran a hand over his face. "It wasn't like that. Or it wasn't supposed to be. We were talking, drinking a little. Then I kissed her, and..."

"And she kissed you back," Doug finished. "Which means she's been feeling it too. I've seen how she looks at you, man."

"It doesn't matter how she looks at me," Michael said. "She's with someone. A guy named Frankie."

"Frankie?" Doug's eyebrows shot up. "The biker dude? Looks like he walked off the set of Vikings?"

Michael nodded miserably.

"So she cheated on Viking dude," Doug said, taking another swig of beer. "Isn't that rich? She's all pissed at her dad for cheating with your mom, but then she turns around and—"

"Shut up, Doug," Steven interrupted, his voice sharp.

Doug turned to Michael, indignant. "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

Michael fixed Doug with a tired glare. "Shut up, Doug."

Doug's mouth snapped closed, and for once, he stayed silent.

Steven leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So what happens now?"

"I don't know," Michael admitted, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. "I don't even know what to say. We haven't spoken since it happened."

"You have to talk to her," Steven said gently. "Whatever this is—a mistake, the start of something, whatever—you can't just pretend it didn't happen."

Michael nodded, knowing Steven was right but dreading the conversation that lay ahead. He'd crossed a line with Shelly, and there was no going back—not to how things were before, and maybe not forward either. The thought left him feeling hollow, caught between regret and something else he wasn't ready to name.