HE SHOULD BE MINE

Chapter four

The restaurant hummed with the clatter of cutlery, a symphony of metallic notes that underscored the tension in the air. Mike's plate lay half-empty before him, the food forgotten—a casualty of his racing thoughts. Each bite was mechanical, devoid of flavor as if he chewed on memories rather than sustenance.

Why had he followed them here? Nathan's invitation had been unexpected, a twist in the plot he hadn't anticipated. The restaurant's cozy ambiance had masked the gravity of the situation. But now, as he watched Nathan and Eleanor across the candlelit table, their laughter weaving an intricate web, he wondered if he'd made a mistake.

Nathan leaned in, his eyes alight with mischief. "You know," he said, voice low, "I never expected you to follow us tonight."

Mike's heart clenched—a visceral ache that defied reason. "Why?" he managed to ask, though his mind raced with a thousand other questions. Why had Nathan invited him? Why had he accepted?

Nathan's gaze flickered toward Eleanor, who sat beside him. Eleanor—the enigma, the woman who held Nathan's heart. Her laughter wove an intricate web, a secret language that excluded Mike. He wondered if he'd made a mistake by coming here, by stepping into their world.

"Curiosity," Nathan replied, his fingers tracing patterns on the wineglass. "You're very secretive, Mike. A boy who only follows me in school. I want to know how you are going to cope with Eleanor here."

Mike's jealousy churned—a tempest within. Nathan's eyes lingered on Eleanor, and Mike's chest tightened. "And what if I don't like what I find?" he blurted out, surprising himself.

Nathan's smile was rueful. "Then you'll have a story to tell," he said.

Mike excused himself, the chair scraping against the floor. The bathroom seemed like a sanctuary—a place to regain his composure, to quell the green monster gnawing at his insides.

But the dimly lit corridor was a maze. Drunken patrons staggered past, their laughter echoing. Mike pressed forward, disoriented. Panic clawed at him; he'd lost his way. He retraced his steps, and retried doors that led to nowhere.

And then, there she was—Eleanor, leaning against the bathroom door. her gaze never leaving Mike. She was a study in contrasts—dark hair, pale skin, eyes that held secrets. "Mr. Gay finally found his way here," she said, her voice slicing through the haze.

Mike's cheeks flamed, and he wished for invisibility. "I'm not—"

"—gay?" Eleanor finished for him. "Oh, I know. But it's not about labels, is it? It's about desire. You crave him, but he's not yours."

His anger surged, a tempest threatening to consume him. "Yes!" The admission burst forth, raw and unfiltered. "I love Nathan. But what are you going to do about it?"

Eleanor's laughter was a blade, honed and merciless. "Nothing," she said, her eyes glinting. "Because Nathan's heart belongs to me."

Mike's world spun, a kaleidoscope of shattered hopes and unspoken truths. Eleanor's words hung in the air, heavy with accusation. The bathroom door closed behind him, muffling the restaurant's distant symphony, he looked at Eleanor, his breaths shallow and ragged "You don't even like him, you just want to play."

"It's not my fault he likes women." Eleanor's next revelation was a dagger. Mike's mind raced, piecing together the puzzle. Nathan—the enigma he'd admired from afar—wasn't just a senior. He was his crush And Mike's secret crush had been a silent ache, a forbidden longing.

He turned, eyes wide, to find Nathan staring at him. Confusion etched across his features, then anger—a tempest brewing.

"You're gay...?" Nathan's voice cracked, disbelief and betrayal warring in his eyes. "And you like me, how come?"

Mike's throat tightened. He'd never intended for this truth to spill out, raw and unfiltered. But now it hung between them, a fragile bridge threatening to collapse. "Yes!" His admission was a confession, a plea. "you're not going to leave me for that, will you?"

Nathan's rage erupted. He pushed Mike aside, grabbed Eleanor's hand, and stormed out. The bathroom walls seemed to close in, suffocating Mike. He slid down, tears blurring his vision. Dreams shattered like glass—love unrequited, brotherhood fractured.

The other patrons came and went, oblivious to his pain. Nathan didn't return. Mike stumbled out of the restaurant, regret clinging to him like a shadow. If he hadn't come, Nathan wouldn't have known. But perhaps ignorance was bliss.

The cab ride home was a blur. His family's voices—his mom's concern, his sister's laughter—were distant echoes. In his room, he collapsed onto the bed. The cloth-clad weight of his misery pressed down. Eighteen seemed impossibly distant, and alcohol couldn't drown the ache.

As the night deepened, Mike wondered if love was a labyrinth—one where paths crossed, hearts collided, and sometimes, even dreams bled.