manmadeandbeyond

[manmadeandbeyond]

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, chapter 03

🐐 SYNOPISIS: You thought you could push the thoughts away, focus on the work, on the routine. But the doubts keep creeping in, unexpected and impossible to ignore. You didn’t mean to question her choices, to feel this restless, but now that the thoughts have started, they won’t stop. ⚠️TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

previous chapter // masterlist

CHAPTER 03 — Know That If It Hides, It Doesn’t Go Away

You get a snack from the vending machine. Raisins. Not because you’re hungry, but because that’s what you do. It’s part of the routine, and routine is supposed to keep you steady. But when Petey turns to you and asks, "Feelin’ better?" you realize you must not look steady at all.

You nod. A lie.

He gives you a lopsided grin, trying to endear you with a joke. "You think you caught Mark’s elevator allergy?"

"Maybe…" you mumble, but you don’t laugh. You don’t feel like laughing.

You don’t see Milchick, almost as if he’s avoiding MDR. As if he knows you might have questions he doesn’t want to answer.

So you focus on the numbers. The work has never felt so consuming, so endlessly fascinating. You keep your face close to the screen, eyes scanning for patterns, hands typing, clicking, inputting. You let the rhythm take over, pushing out anything else, until your vision blurs and your head starts to ache.

A stray thought worming its way in, like a crack in a perfectly smooth surface.

Why do you always wear black?

It’s not a question you’ve ever asked before. It’s just how things are – your blazer, your slacks, the sensible dark flats that pinch at the toes. A uniform you were handed without choice, without thought. But now the question lingers. Some color would be nice, maybe something softer?

You blink hard, shake it off. Return to the numbers. Click. Select. Categorize.

Another crack. Another unwelcome thought.

Your hair is tight today. Pulled back in a severe, no-nonsense style. Just like yesterday. Just like every day before. Wouldn’t it feel nice to let it down? Would it move differently? Would you feel different?

You straighten in your chair, adjusting your posture, clenching your jaw. These thoughts aren’t helpful. They aren’t right. The numbers. Just focus on the numbers. You press the keys harder, as if force alone could drown out the unease crawling under your skin. But doubt is persistent. It burrows in, takes root.

How much of you is really you?

Did she pick the food you eat? The way you sit? The way you think? Did she choose to make you like this? A cold sweat prickles at the back of your neck. You rub your eyes, the glow of the monitor making your headache worse.

"I’ve noticed you’re not feeling well lately," Irving says.

Dylan scoffs. "Oh, you noticed? Did you notice her running to cry in the bathroom yesterday?" He rolls his eyes.

"Dylan," Mark stops clicking, stops working, just long enough to scold him.

"What? She said she didn’t want to talk about it. Irving’s the one being weird."

"I was going to suggest she read from the book," Irving defends himself, eyes wide, unguarded, as if he hadn’t meant to push you, hadn’t meant to bring it up again. "I’m sure Kier’s words can help her with whatever it is she’s going through."

You hesitate, rubbing your tired eyes, fingers pressing into the corners. Then, "You know what? I think you’re right."

You follow him to the shelf on the wall beneath the portrait of Kier Eagan. He takes out the handbook and flips through the pages. Then he reads to you, his voice reverent. Something about duty. About obedience. About temperance.

You close your eyes and listen, trying to let it sink in. Trying to let it fix whatever’s wrong with you.

Later, you pray. Pray to be better. To be good again.

"Tame thy tempers."

A command. A reminder. A warning.

You swallow hard. You will obey. You will be better. You must be better. Because this body isn’t yours. And it never was.

Two weeks pass, and then – 

That feeling. Again.

It creeps up on you the moment you wake up on the elevator. Was it Milchick again? Or was it someone else? You don’t know. You can’t know. It isn’t your memory to have.

The thought claws at you all morning. Beneath your desk, your hands tremble slightly, restless in your lap. Your skin feels hypersensitive. Your clothes feel wrong – too stiff, too close, too much like something someone else chose for you.

You excuse yourself and walk to the bathroom, locking the stall door behind you, the latch clicking too loudly. You press your hands to the walls. You breathe. In. Out. Your heartbeat is erratic, your skin burning, but not from shame. Not entirely.

You should be praying.

You should be repenting.

Instead, your fingers twitch against the fabric of your skirt. The sensation has taken root inside you now, growing, twisting. Your head tips back against the wall. Your breath catches. Your whole body is betraying you, dragging you somewhere dark, somewhere you don’t recognize.

You squeeze your thighs together, but it only makes it worse. Makes it stronger. Makes it impossible to ignore. Your mind drifts – against your will, against every lesson you’ve learned, against every word Irving read to you from the handbook.

A touch that you can’t remember. A mouth at your throat. Fingers pressing, dragging, slipping – 

Your breath stutters. The stall feels smaller, hotter. The tiles seem to close in. You let yourself sink into it, just for a moment. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to make sense of what he might have done to you.

Then, slowly, carefully, you press your thighs together, testing the sensation, and – oh.

A sharp inhale. A startling jolt of pleasure, something entirely new and terrifying. Your knees nearly buckle.

Is this how it felt?

With him?

With her?

You squeeze your eyes shut, drowning in it, trying not to make a sound. Your own touch is foreign, unfamiliar. Your fingertips skim over the fabric of your underwear, tracing the outline of something forbidden, something you shouldn’t be doing but can’t stop. Would it have felt like this if you could remember it? Would it have felt better? Worse?

Did he make her shake like this? Did she want him to?

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through you, and your breath hitches. You bite your lip. Hard. You move tentatively, experimenting, discovering – each stroke, each press, each shift of your hips ignites something deeper, something uncontrollable. Your own body is an unknown territory, one you were never meant to explore.

It builds. It burns. It pushes you higher, hotter, unbearable in its intensity – 

Your whole body tenses, clenches, shatters. The pleasure rips through you, violent and all-consuming. You brace yourself against the stall wall, shaking, dizzy. The bathroom is too bright, too still.

It takes a second for the nausea to hit.

Your stomach turns, your chest tightens. Your hands are unsteady as you smooth down your skirt, fingers numb.

You stare blankly at the door.

[next chapter]

[manmadeandbeyond]

No matter what other valid concerns are raised about you, never eradicate from your essence childish folly.

[manmadeandbeyond]

I just wanted to say that your series so far is amazing despite have just two chapters. I also wanted to thank you for taking the initiative to write for Milchick there is not a lot of fics of him on this app or ao3 (which is sad considering he is the best and most good looking character on the show). Keep the good work!!!!

Thank you so much! I hope you like where I’m taking the story. Writing for Severance in general is very difficult because we don’t know a lot about anything, and writing for Michick even more; he’s a complex character with zero info about him outside of the work environment. Also, every new episode there’s a chance your fanfic will read as really dumb/dated. But writing is fun so I’ll do it anyway!

[manmadeandbeyond]

Thank you so so much 😳😊 sending you lots of love back! 💖

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, chapter 02

🐐 SYNOPISIS: You told yourself it was nothing, a one-night mistake. You know you shouldn’t care – he made the boundaries clear. But you pushed them. You wanted him, and now that you’ve crossed the line, you can’t seem to stop. ⚠️TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

previous chapter // masterlist

CHAPTER 02 — I Find Myself Alone Again, All Alone With You

You haven’t heard from Seth in two weeks.

You tell yourself you’re fine. You go to the grocery store, wandering through aisles you don’t need to be in, staring at labels without reading them. The fluorescent lights hum above you, too bright, too sterile, but at least it’s something to do. Something that isn’t thinking about him.

You tried to keep it professional. You really did. You needed this job. After your mom passed, you had nothing – no degree, no work history, just years of caretaking that didn’t count for anything outside of hospital waiting rooms. You were thirty, broke, and desperate. So, you signed the contract.

And then there was him.

You knew you were interested from day one. Seth made it clear that things had to stay professional. He’d say it casually, in passing, but often enough that you understood he was drawing a line. But you kept finding reasons to call him. Small things. A broken lock. A ride to pick up a couch. Silly, needless favors, just desperate to hear his voice. You knew what you were doing. He knew, too.

The night you finally got him in bed with you, it was the best of your life. Mind-blowing, earth-shattering. But in a way, it makes sense he didn’t call you after. He never really wanted anything beyond the professional. You should’ve known better. Still, you’re angry.

You don’t know what you want from him. An apology? An explanation? Another night? You just know you’re not ready to let it go.

So you wait for him in the parking lot after work. When he crosses glances with you, you nod, and he nods back, understanding. You know he’ll follow you home.

“Say you’re not interested,” you tell him as you cross your threshold, giving him an ultimatum.

The door clicks shut behind him. He stands there, tense, like he’s considering leaving. But he doesn’t. You watch him, waiting, heart pounding, giving him a chance to say the thing you both know he won’t.  He’s weighing his words, and you can see it, the way he shifts, the way his eyes flicker around the room, looking for an escape that isn’t there. He doesn’t want to give you too much information. But the way you’re looking at him… he can’t resist. He feels weak. Unfocused. Dizzy.

“You know I can’t say that,” he finally mutters.

“Then what’s the problem? We just need to be careful. No one’s going to find out,” you press.

Something in him changes. His posture, his mannerisms – something subtle, like there’s already been a consequence. Like someone already found out. A cold knot forms in your stomach. Shit.

“Was it her?” Your voice barely comes out. You’re terrified of the answer, and the look on his face is worse than confirmation. He looks cornered. Scared. You’re too smart for your own good, and he knows it. Too smart for this to ever be safe for him. “So this isn’t about the job. This is about her.”

He hesitates again, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“She is the job.”

You stare at him. You blink, once, twice, trying to make sense of it. It makes no sense, but at the same time, it makes all the sense in the world. You try to break the tension.

“Wow,” you scoff lightly. “You fucked me so good even my Innie felt it.”

He doesn’t laugh.

Your confusion starts to turn into dread. “Is she… like a child or something? The way you talk about her…”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly. Then, after a beat, “Not a child. Exactly. But they don’t know– shouldn’t know about… these things. Our world. They’re… well, pure, for a lack of a better word.”

“And we corrupted her…” you whisper, guilt setting in.

Seth doesn’t confirm or deny it. He just looks at you.

"So I’m not allowed to have sex ever again, or what?" The guilt gnaws at you. You regretted the procedure after the first day, but you had no other option, so you kept going. You decide to tell him. "Honestly, I regretted the procedure after the first day. But even then, it was too late. Now what? I can’t quit. Where am I getting another job like this?"

"You’re very important to us." His voice takes on that practiced calm again, the corporate poise from when you first met him, like he’s reading from a script he memorized a long time ago.

"Who’s 'us'?" you spit, not giving two shits about Lumen right now.

"The work is important." He tries a different approach, but he’s still pulling back, keeping it professional, as if that’s still possible. But it’s too late for that. You crossed the line. You can’t go back.

It creeps in your mind – the unsettling thought that your Innie isn’t some distant, separate version of yourself, but a raw, unguarded mirror. The fact that the line between you blurs so easily, that she can feel echoes of something she’s never experienced, something intimate and terrifying… it should make you stop. Should make you question how deep this connection really goes. But you’re too scared to find out. Too scared to face what it might mean if your Innie feels him, wants him, the same way you do. So you shove it down, lock it away, and focus on what’s in front of you – the heat of his body, the promise of his touch, the distraction of chasing something that’s already wrong. 

You step closer, slowly, deliberately. “You’d prefer if it was someone else?”

His head jerks up, eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t answer. 

“At least it’s you,” you say, softly, like you’re offering him some kind of twisted reassurance. You take another step, close enough now that your bodies are nearly touching. “You really want me to find someone else?”

His throat works, like he’s trying to swallow something down, but the longer you hold his gaze, the more his resolve crumbles. 

“You just need to be careful,” you whisper, tilting your head, lips inches from his.

“I was careful last time,” he murmurs.

You press closer, until there’s no space left, until you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. His eyes close, and you think he’s going to push you away. But when he exhales, it’s slow, shaky.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to kiss you. Hard. Desperate. His hands come up to your face, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

[manmadeandbeyond]

When’s part two of the milchick fic coming out 🌝

Hey, I just posted it 😉

[manmadeandbeyond]

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, chapter 02

🐐 SYNOPISIS: You told yourself it was nothing, a one-night mistake. You know you shouldn’t care – he made the boundaries clear. But you pushed them. You wanted him, and now that you’ve crossed the line, you can’t seem to stop. ⚠️TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

previous chapter // masterlist

CHAPTER 02 — I Find Myself Alone Again, All Alone With You

You haven’t heard from Seth in two weeks.

You tell yourself you’re fine. You go to the grocery store, wandering through aisles you don’t need to be in, staring at labels without reading them. The fluorescent lights hum above you, too bright, too sterile, but at least it’s something to do. Something that isn’t thinking about him.

You tried to keep it professional. You really did. You needed this job. After your mom passed, you had nothing – no degree, no work history, just years of caretaking that didn’t count for anything outside of hospital waiting rooms. You were thirty, broke, and desperate. So, you signed the contract.

And then there was him.

You knew you were interested from day one. Seth made it clear that things had to stay professional. He’d say it casually, in passing, but often enough that you understood he was drawing a line. But you kept finding reasons to call him. Small things. A broken lock. A ride to pick up a couch. Silly, needless favors, just desperate to hear his voice. You knew what you were doing. He knew, too.

The night you finally got him in bed with you, it was the best of your life. Mind-blowing, earth-shattering. But in a way, it makes sense he didn’t call you after. He never really wanted anything beyond the professional. You should’ve known better. Still, you’re angry.

You don’t know what you want from him. An apology? An explanation? Another night? You just know you’re not ready to let it go.

So you wait for him in the parking lot after work. When he crosses glances with you, you nod, and he nods back, understanding. You know he’ll follow you home.

“Say you’re not interested,” you tell him as you cross your threshold, giving him an ultimatum.

The door clicks shut behind him. He stands there, tense, like he’s considering leaving. But he doesn’t. You watch him, waiting, heart pounding, giving him a chance to say the thing you both know he won’t.  He’s weighing his words, and you can see it, the way he shifts, the way his eyes flicker around the room, looking for an escape that isn’t there. He doesn’t want to give you too much information. But the way you’re looking at him… he can’t resist. He feels weak. Unfocused. Dizzy.

“You know I can’t say that,” he finally mutters.

“Then what’s the problem? We just need to be careful. No one’s going to find out,” you press.

Something in him changes. His posture, his mannerisms – something subtle, like there’s already been a consequence. Like someone already found out. A cold knot forms in your stomach. Shit.

“Was it her?” Your voice barely comes out. You’re terrified of the answer, and the look on his face is worse than confirmation. He looks cornered. Scared. You’re too smart for your own good, and he knows it. Too smart for this to ever be safe for him. “So this isn’t about the job. This is about her.”

He hesitates again, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“She is the job.”

You stare at him. You blink, once, twice, trying to make sense of it. It makes no sense, but at the same time, it makes all the sense in the world. You try to break the tension.

“Wow,” you scoff lightly. “You fucked me so good even my Innie felt it.”

He doesn’t laugh.

Your confusion starts to turn into dread. “Is she… like a child or something? The way you talk about her…”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly. Then, after a beat, “Not a child. Exactly. But they don’t know– shouldn’t know about… these things. Our world. They’re… well, pure, for a lack of a better word.”

“And we corrupted her…” you whisper, guilt setting in.

Seth doesn’t confirm or deny it. He just looks at you.

"So I’m not allowed to have sex ever again, or what?" The guilt gnaws at you. You regretted the procedure after the first day, but you had no other option, so you kept going. You decide to tell him. "Honestly, I regretted the procedure after the first day. But even then, it was too late. Now what? I can’t quit. Where am I getting another job like this?"

"You’re very important to us." His voice takes on that practiced calm again, the corporate poise from when you first met him, like he’s reading from a script he memorized a long time ago.

"Who’s 'us'?" you spit, not giving two shits about Lumon right now.

"The work is important." He tries a different approach, but he’s still pulling back, keeping it professional, as if that’s still possible. But it’s too late for that. You crossed the line. You can’t go back.

It creeps in your mind – the unsettling thought that your Innie isn’t some distant, separate version of yourself, but a raw, unguarded mirror. The fact that the line between you blurs so easily, that she can feel echoes of something she’s never experienced, something intimate and terrifying… it should make you stop. Should make you question how deep this connection really goes. But you’re too scared to find out. Too scared to face what it might mean if your Innie feels him, wants him, the same way you do. So you shove it down, lock it away, and focus on what’s in front of you – the heat of his body, the promise of his touch, the distraction of chasing something that’s already wrong. 

You step closer, slowly, deliberately. “You’d prefer if it was someone else?”

His head jerks up, eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t answer. 

“At least it’s you,” you say, softly, like you’re offering him some kind of twisted reassurance. You take another step, close enough now that your bodies are nearly touching. “You really want me to find someone else?”

His throat works, like he’s trying to swallow something down, but the longer you hold his gaze, the more his resolve crumbles. 

“You just need to be careful,” you whisper, tilting your head, lips inches from his.

“I was careful last time,” he murmurs.

You press closer, until there’s no space left, until you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. His eyes close, and you think he’s going to push you away. But when he exhales, it’s slow, shaky.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to kiss you. Hard. Desperate. His hands come up to your face, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

[next chapter]

[manmadeandbeyond]

" your other you " , a seth milchick x reader fanfic moodboard.

[manmadeandbeyond]

🌐 hi, i'm daisy ! this is a sideblog i'm currently using to write a severance x reader fic. tumblr seemed like the most appropriete place for this.

you can find 'your other you' masterlist here.

i'm open to feedback and suggestions, but i'm not taking requests! and remember: let kier guide your hand!

[manmadeandbeyond]

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, masterlist

🐐 SYNOPISIS: In the sterile, windowless halls of Lumon Industries, waking up in your own body is supposed to be predictable – seamless. But when your Innie opens her eyes with a strange, lingering ache, panic takes over. Something happened while you were gone. Something your Outie did. And now, you’re left to piece together the unsettling reality of sharing a body with a woman whose choices aren’t yours.  ⚠️ TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

CHAPTER 01 — When The Morning Cries, And You Don’t Know Why CHAPTER 02 — I Find Myself Alone Again, All Alone With You CHAPTER 03 — Know That If It Hides, It Doesn’t Go Away

[manmadeandbeyond]

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, chapter 01

🐐 SYNOPISIS: In the sterile, windowless halls of Lumon Industries, waking up in your own body is supposed to be predictable – seamless. But when your Innie opens her eyes with a strange, lingering ache, panic takes over. Something happened while you were gone. Something your Outie did. And now, you’re left to piece together the unsettling reality of sharing a body with a woman whose choices aren’t yours.  ⚠️ TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

previous chapter // masterlist

CHAPTER 01 — When The Morning Cries, And You Don’t Know Why

The fluorescent lights hum above you, the elevator ride down is silent except for that low, incessant buzz. The walls are smooth, cold against your shoulder as you lean back, trying to shake off the subtle disorientation that always comes with waking up here.

The faint smell of disinfectant lingers, sharp and clinical, and the floor vibrates ever so slightly beneath your feet, a mechanical heartbeat counting down to your arrival. But this morning – or whatever passes for morning here – something feels off.

The moment you wake up in the elevator, you know. There’s a strange heaviness in your body. As a woman, you recognize it instantly, though you don’t want to. It’s not painful, exactly, but it’s there – a residual awareness, the ghost of what your body went through while you were... gone.

You shift and the sensation becomes clearer, unavoidable. The ache between your legs, subtle but insistent, makes your stomach turn. Your heartbeat quickens, panic blooming sharp and fast. Your mind races, trying to grasp the edges of what happened while you were asleep, but there’s nothing. Just the feeling.

No, no, no. You can’t be here like this.

Panic hits you before you can even think. You don’t stop to question it – you just run.

The elevator doors open, and you’re already moving, heart pounding, desperate to get to the bathroom. You barely see the office, barely register the startled glances as you rush past Irving, past Dylan.

“Hey!” someone calls, but you don’t stop.

You can’t stop. The panic isn’t just fear – it’s disgust, a deep, gnawing horror at the thought of your Outie, of what she did, of who she let touch her. A man you don’t know, a face you’ll never see, a voice you’ll never hear. The idea makes your skin crawl, and you run faster, as if you could outrun the reality of sharing a body with her. As if you could escape her choices.

You’re almost there when Mr. Milchick steps into your path, alarmed.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” he asks, concerned but composed, his voice even, practiced. His eyes track you carefully, reading your panic with laser precision.

You shake your head, trying to push past him, but he follows, his hand gently touching your arm, grounding in a way that makes you want to cry even more.

“Wait, hold on,” he says, and before you know it, he’s in the bathroom with you, the door clicking shut behind him.

You’re crying. When did that start? You’re pressing your hands to your face, trying to stop, but it’s all too much – the soreness, the terrifying blankness where your own memories should be.

“Talk to me,” Milchick urges. His presence fills the small space, but he’s careful not to touch you again. He crouches slightly, lowering himself to your eye level.

“I can feel it,” you whisper, the words shaking. “I can feel what she did.”

The anger surges. You’re enraged at her. Your Outie. You blame her for this. For letting a man touch her. For making you feel this.

His expression shifts, the professional mask slipping just slightly, confusion and fear are all across his face. His mouth opens, then closes, as though he’s choosing his next words with extreme care – care that suddenly feels personal.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks quietly, too quietly.

You freeze, staring at him. His question isn’t neutral. He isn’t asking about some stranger.

“It was you,” you say.

He blanches, lips parting like he wants to say something, to deny it maybe, but he doesn’t. He just watches you, and you see it there – the guilt, the regret, the worry. His shoulders tense, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I didn’t think you would�� I would never–” he starts, and his voice is tight, shaken. You can see it in the way he swallows hard, in the tension thrumming beneath his skin – he’s terrified, not just of what you might think, but of the possibility that, somehow, even being as careful as he was, he might’ve harmed you. That he crossed a line with you – not her, but you.

The panic inside you doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. At least it was him. At least you know his face. Your body relaxes, just a little, the relief hitting you hard enough to make your knees weak. You sink to sit on the closed toilet lid, elbows on your knees, head in your hands, trying to breathe.

It’s not right, not really, but some part of you, the part that’s noticed him since the beginning, feels... relieved. The theory you’d quietly formed, that maybe your Outie felt the same draw to him, feels confirmed. And that makes the panic just a little easier to bear.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, wiping your eyes, still embarrassed, still shaken. “At least it was you.”

“You– you were running like something was really wrong,” he says, searching your face for cracks you’re trying to hide. There’s panic in his eyes, but he’s holding it down, forcing himself to stay grounded for you, though you can see he’s fighting not to spiral – not to make this about himself. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

You swallow hard and look away.

“I didn’t know,” you say, “When I woke up, I just… I could feel everything, but I didn’t know who it was. I was scared of it being someone I wouldn’t like.”

The admission makes you feel raw, exposed in a way you weren’t prepared for. Milchick’s expression softens just slightly, and he takes a small step closer, but not too close.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asks again, quieter this time.

You meet his eyes, and for the first time, you notice how afraid he looks. Not afraid of you – afraid for you. That realization settles in your chest, heavy and confusing.

“If I knew you could feel it, I…” He trails off, shaking his head as though trying to physically rid himself of the thought. “I never would– I wouldn’t have…”

But saying it out loud seems to shift something in him, and he realizes, with a visible pang of guilt, that he shouldn’t have done it anyway.

“I shouldn’t have,” he says, more firmly, his voice edged with self-recrimination. “I– I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

His guilt, so tangible, makes your stomach twist in a new way– not because you want him to feel bad, but because the alternative is worse. Your mind races, faster this time, until you blurt it out, frantic:

“What if it wasn’t you?”

He blinks, startled.

“What if it’s someone else next time?” you press, the panic rising again, overwhelming. “Is my Outie a slut? What if she sleeps with someone else? What if I wake up feeling… feeling someone I don’t want?”

Milchick looks like he might be sick. He opens his mouth, then closes it, at a complete loss. He doesn’t have an answer.

You both have to face the fact that it could have been worse. And for him, the sickening truth is, he’s the better option. But now he knows you feel what he did, and that knowledge twists inside him, awful and impossible to ignore.

[next chapter]