Chapter Text
1
The bonfire burned low and hungry, throwing jagged light across the beach like it had teeth.
Michael stood just outside it.
Close enough to feel the heat.
Not close enough to belong.
The ocean rolled in behind him, endless and dark, but it was nothing compared to the pull in front of him. The noise. The movement. The way the Lost Boys cut through the night like it belonged to them.
Like they belonged to each other.
David watched him from across the fire.
Not pushing.
Not rushing.
Just… waiting.
“Michael,” he said, voice carrying clean through the chaos. “You coming?”
The surfers didn’t see it coming.
One minute they were loud, shoving, laughing too hard. The next—Marko had one by the throat, Paul knocked another into the sand, Dwayne moving like a shadow between them.
It turned fast.
Too fast.
Michael froze.
This wasn’t a fight.
This was something else.
Something wrong.
Something—
A scream cut through the night.
Michael’s head snapped toward it.
David had one of them now, dragging him back by the collar, the guy kicking and swearing, blood already smeared across his arm.
His eyes never left Michael. Glinting and gold and wrong.
He shoved the surfer forward.
Right into him.
“Go on,” David said, quieter now. “You’re starving.”
Michael shook his head automatically. “I’m not—”
The words died.
The smell hit him first.
Copper.
Salt.
Alive.
His stomach twisted—but not away.
Toward.
“No,” he whispered.
His eyes burned.
The firelight caught something wrong in them now—something that wasn’t human anymore.
The surfer shoved at him, panicked. “Get off me—what the hell is wrong with you people—”
Michael grabbed him.
Too tight.
His breath hitched.
Everything sharpened—the pulse in the man’s arm, the wet warmth of blood soaking into fabric, the frantic rhythm under skin.
His teeth ached.
“Please,” the surfer choked.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut.
He could still walk away.
He should.
He—
The man’s arm shifted.
The wound pressed against his mouth.
And something inside him gave.
Not snapped.
Not forced.
Opened.
He moved.
Fast.
His mouth found the wound like it had always known how.
The first taste hit him like lightning.
Hot.
Metallic.
Alive.
Michael gasped against it, hands locking in place as the rush flooded him—filling every empty space, every hollow ache he hadn’t even known he had.
It felt—
Right.
The fear vanished under it, drowned out by something deeper.
Something better.
He drank.
The struggle weakened.
Slowed.
Stopped.
Michael didn’t notice.
Not until there was nothing left to take.
The silence came back first.
Then the weight.
Then the stillness.
He lifted his head slowly.
Blood streaked his mouth, his chin.
For a second—just a second—there was something like awe there.
But then he looked down.
The surfer hung limp in his hands.
Not breathing.
Not moving.
Gone.
The high shattered.
Michael jerked back like he’d been burned, and the body hit the sand with a dull, final sound.
“I—”
His voice broke.
“I killed him.”
No one answered right away.
David was still watching him.
Not shocked.
Not angry.
Just… watching.
“I killed him,” Michael said again, louder now, like saying it might undo it. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” David said.
That didn’t help.
Because it was true.
And worse—
Michael had wanted it.
His chest tightened, panic slamming back in, harder now, sharper.
“I can’t—” he choked.
And then he ran.
Not across the sand.
Up.
The world dropped out from under him in an instant, the fire shrinking fast as the wind tore into him.
“NO—!”
The sky swallowed him whole.
Too big.
Too open.
No walls.
No ceiling.
No end.
His body jerked violently, trying to find ground where there wasn’t any. His hands clawed at the air, legs kicking uselessly against nothing.
His chest hitched, dragging in breath after breath that did nothing—
—and that made it worse.
Because it should.
It should work.
It should matter.
He choked, slamming a hand against his chest.
Nothing.
No beat.
No rhythm.
Just empty.
“NO—!”
Below, the fire crackled on.
“Dave—”
“I’ve got him, Marko.”
“David—”
“Go, Dwayne. Back to the hideout. Clean up.”
“You sure—”
“I got him, Paul.”
“Bring him back in one piece?”
David didn’t answer.
He was already in the air.
He cut upward fast, locking onto the wild, spiraling path above him.
That wasn’t flying.
That was panic.
“Shit.”
David surged the last distance—
—and Michael slammed into him.
Not steadying.
Not catching.
Clinging.
Full-body, desperate, arms locking tight, fingers digging in like letting go meant disappearing.
“I KILLED HIM—!” Michael choked. “I killed him, I— I felt it—!”
“Michael—”
“I can’t breathe—!” he gasped again, trying anyway. “I can’t— I can’t—!”
“Because you don’t have to—”
“That’s NOT BETTER!”
His voice cracked wide open.
“That’s worse— that’s so much worse—!”
He buried his face against David’s shoulder like he could hide from the sky itself.
“Fuck— I hate this, I hate this, I hate heights—”
David tightened his grip automatically, bracing him, adjusting for the way panic made him dead weight and chaos all at once.
“Yeah,” he muttered, distracted. “I’m noticing—”
“No, you’re not—” Michael shook his head violently. “You’re not— I really hate heights—”
He looked down.
He shouldn’t have.
He did.
The ocean yawned up at him.
Black.
Endless.
Waiting.
Something in him snapped.
A strangled sound tore out of him as his body jerked hard, dragging them off-balance before David corrected sharply.
“Nope— nope— NOPE—!” Michael clamped back onto him like a vice. “I’m gonna fall— I’m gonna fall—!”
“You’re not falling—”
“I’M GONNA FALL AND I’M GONNA DIE—!”
“You’re already—”
“DON’T—!”
The word hit like a blade.
“Don’t say that— don’t make it real—!”
David’s jaw snapped shut.
“…okay,” he said. “Bad call.”
Michael was still trying to breathe.
Still failing.
“My heart—” he choked, pressing his hand to his chest again. “It’s not there—!”
“I know—”
“I don’t want this!” Michael snapped, voice breaking. “I didn’t want to kill someone and then just— be this—!”
Another useless breath.
His eyes burned gold, wet in a way that didn’t fall.
“I can’t even—” His voice dropped, small and terrified. “I can’t even cry—”
That landed.
Hard.
David stilled for half a second.
Michael’s grip tightened again, desperate.
“I don’t feel right,” he said. “Nothing feels right, I can’t breathe, my heart’s gone, I’m in the sky, I—”
His voice spiked again.
“Fuck—I HATE HEIGHTS—!”
And that—
That clicked.
David’s expression shifted.
“…shit.”
Michael didn’t hear him.
“I’m gonna fall, I’m gonna slip, I can’t— I can’t do this—!”
“Hey—HEY—”
David grabbed his face, forced him to look at him.
“Look at me.”
Michael did.
Barely.
Eyes wide.
Terrified.
“…we made you jump off a bridge,” David said.
Not a question.
A realization.
Michael let out a broken, almost hysterical sound. “Yeah— yeah, you did—!”
David closed his eyes for half a second.
“…fuck.”
Then, sharper, furious at himself now—
“Fuck.”
His grip shifted immediately.
Not just holding.
Locking.
One arm tight around Michael’s back, the other bracing him close, eliminating any space for slipping, for falling, for anything.
“That’s on me,” David muttered. “That’s— yeah, that’s real great, David— toss the guy off a bridge and then act surprised when he loses it midair—”
“David—” Michael’s voice shook, smaller now. “Don’t let go—”
“I’m not letting go.”
Immediate.
Firm.
No hesitation.
“Don’t— don’t let me fall—”
“You’re not falling.”
“I don’t trust that—”
“Yeah,” David exhaled. “I got that.”
Then, quieter—
“You don’t have to trust it.”
A beat.
“Just trust me.”
Michael froze for a second.
Still shaking.
Still terrified.
But he stopped fighting him.
“…okay,” he whispered.
That was enough.
“Alright,” David said, shifting them carefully, angling down. “We’re done with this part.”
The descent was slow.
Controlled.
Michael felt it anyway.
“Hey— hey—” David murmured as he tensed again. “I got you. Not dropping you. Not now, not ever.”
The cliffs rose up fast.
Solid.
Real.
Ground.
They hit hard but steady, boots scraping against rock as David took the impact, keeping Michael upright.
The second they landed—
Michael didn’t let go.
Didn’t even loosen.
He clung like the sky might take him back if he gave it the chance, breathing out of habit, chest tight, eyes still too bright.
“…ground,” he muttered.
Like he had to remind himself it existed.
“Yeah,” David said, a little rougher now. “Big fan of that right now.”
Michael let out something that almost turned into a sob—but didn’t.
Couldn’t.
“I killed him,” he said again.
Quieter.
Heavier.
“I know.”
“I liked it.”
Barely there.
David didn’t flinch.
“Yeah.”
Michael squeezed his eyes shut.
“I hate that.”
“Yeah,” David said. “That part sticks.”
The wind moved softer here.
No endless sky pressing in.
No drop waiting to swallow him whole.
Michael’s grip loosened—just a fraction.
Not letting go.
Never that.
“…I really hate heights,” he muttered again.
David huffed a quiet breath, something tired in it now.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m gonna remember that next time before I decide to traumatize the new guy.”
A weak, shaky huff escaped Michael.
“Appreciated.”
David glanced down at the hands still fisted in his jacket.
Didn’t comment.
Didn’t make him let go.
“C’mon,” he said, softer now. “Let’s get you inside.”
Michael nodded once.
Still shaken.
Still scared.
Still very, very new to being something that didn’t breathe, didn’t beat, didn’t cry.
But he was on solid ground.
And David hadn’t let go.
Not once.