Michael felt like he'd just been hit by a truck.

"Do you believe that?" he choked. "Do you really believe I'd do that to you?"

Micky wrapped his arms around his legs. He said nothing.

"Micky...Micky, I love you. You know that, don't you?"

Silence.

"You love me," Michael whispered. "You said you...you said you loved me too."

"I do," Micky said miserably. He refused to look at Michael.

"You love me. You love me, I know you do. Do you...Do you trust me?"

"I—" Micky's words caught in his throat.

"You what?"

"I don't...I don't kn-know."

Michael's heart shattered. He let out a cry and doubled over as if in physical pain. He sank to the floor, burying his head in his hands.

Micky was silent other than the sounds of his own sobs.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut and tangled his fingers in his hair, trying to block out the pain. His heart raced and his breath was short and choppy. He feared he was having an anxiety attack. He bit down on the palm of his hand to keep from screaming.

Micky was trapped in a daze. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him until Michael said something.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Micky looked up. His eyes briefly locked with Michael's and he looked down again, feeling sick. His lips formed a response, but it was like he was detached from his own body.

"...Yes."