You guys said you wanted Church Gate,
The church is cold. Empty. Dead quiet.
Will sits in the second pew, hunched forward. His knuckles are white around the edge of the seat. Candlelight flickers across his face — pale, tear-streaked, distant.
Somewhere beneath the silence, a whisper curls like smoke through his mind:
VECNA (V.O., inside Will’s head)
You were never wanted. Not like that. Not by him.
Will flinches. His breath fogs in the cold.
You felt it, didn’t you? The silence after your speech. The way he looked at you. That pity.
Will’s lip trembles. His jaw tightens. He closes his eyes — trying to block it out — but the whispers get louder.
You think love makes you strong. But it makes you soft. Hollow. Weak.
He opens his eyes. There’s no escape.
The church door CREAKS open. Heavy footsteps squelch on wet stone.
MIKE steps into the aisle. Soaked, out of breath, panicked.
Will — what the hell — I’ve been looking everywhere. What are you doing here?
MIKE walks slowly toward him. The air around Will feels wrong — dense. Like gravity’s bending inward.
Will finally turns — his eyes bloodshot, lashes wet.
You’re gonna try to save me. And it’s not gonna work.
What are you talking about?
Will looks away. His fingers twitch, like static is crawling under his skin.
He’s been here for hours. Whispering. Showing me things.
He doesn’t even need to hurt me. He just… waits. Watches. He knows what I hate about myself. And he agrees.
The candles flicker harder — wind howls through a crack in the wall.
I’ve tried. So hard. To pretend it doesn’t matter. That it’s okay you looked right through me. That I can be your friend and nothing else.
Mike stares at him. Speechless.
But he knows. He knows what I am. What I feel. And he’s right. It’s disgusting.
You’ve never looked at me the way you look at her. I’ve known since day one.
So I lied. To myself. I smiled. I said I was happy you were happy. But I wasn’t.
A beat. The pain is breaking through. Mike’s voice cracks.
Will finally looks at him.
And you were afraid. Just like me.
The wind goes dead still. Even the candles pause — like the church is holding its breath.
I was afraid because if I said it out loud, it would be true.
And if it was true… then I hurt you.
And I don’t think I could live with that.
A shiver runs through Will — a deep, involuntary one.
Will's hands snap to his ears. He winces, like something’s digging into him.
Mike drops to his knees in front of him, grabbing his shoulders.
No. Listen to me. You’re not alone.
Will shakes his head violently.
You don’t have to. I’m right here. I’m not leaving. Ever.
Will gasps. His pupils dilate. Something black starts bleeding into the edges of his vision.
You’re not wrong. You’re not broken. You’re —
Mike’s voice drops, cracked open and shaking.
You’re the one I couldn’t say it to. Because it meant everything.
Will’s eyes flicker — panic, pain, hope.
And in that second — everything slows.
A CRACK splits the air — like a tether snapping.
Will blinks — and the darkness recedes.
He collapses forward into Mike’s arms.
The dark grip inside Will’s mind loosens — like a vice unclenching slowly but not completely. The black bleeding from his vision fades, and his breath evens out.
He blinks — dazed, confused. The memories of the whispers, the poison words he just said, start to slip away like smoke in the wind.
He looks up, his eyes meeting Mike’s — searching, uncertain, as if waking from a bad dream.
Mike’s hands are still on his shoulders, steady but trembling.
Will blinks again, trying to find solid ground.
Mike… what happened? I… I don’t remember.
Mike swallows, voice thick with relief and something softer — tenderness, fear.
You were… somewhere else. But you’re here now. That’s what matters.
Will’s hands twitch nervously at his sides, the residual shadows clinging faintly at the edges of his mind. He looks away, ashamed and fragile.
I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what I said before. It was like… I wasn’t me.
Mike steps closer, careful, like approaching someone broken and afraid of being shattered.
It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.
Will’s eyes flicker back to Mike’s, searching, wanting, but afraid.
The church feels unbearably cold. The distant echo of thunder rattles the windows.
Will shivers — and Mike instinctively wraps his arms around him, grounding him.
Will leans in, hesitating, breath shaky against Mike’s chest.
Mike’s voice cracks, raw and honest.
Me too. But I’m not going anywhere.
They stay like that for long moments — no words, just shaky breaths, and tentative touches.
Slowly, Mike’s hand slides up, fingers brushing Will’s jaw. Will flinches, but doesn’t pull away.
Mike’s thumb traces over Will’s trembling lips — a question hanging between them.
Will’s eyes flutter closed, tears leaking down his cheeks.
Mike leans in so slowly it feels like time itself is holding its breath.
Their lips barely brush — soft, uncertain, desperate.
Will’s hands find Mike’s wrists, gripping tightly, trembling.
The kiss deepens, messy and fragile — an unspoken promise, a lifeline.
They’re both trembling — scared, aching, and holding on to each other like the world might break if they don’t.
