Happier (Michael x Noah)

M. Noah

** Months later **

"Four Platinum Entry Passes, one Disability Entry Pass, eight Party Passes, one Photo Pass, three Dance Passes, two MAZErcise tickets, two cups of twenty FazTokens, and one cup of fifty FazTokens," I say to the lady at the front desk. "Please, and thank you."

"No problem, sir," she replies as she pulls everything the kids and I need out from under the desk. "Are there any accommodations that need to be added to the Disability Pass?"

"Yes, she needs wheelchair access. Also, do you have an ASL interpreter here with you today?"

"Yes, we do! Do you need one for the Disability Pass? Or for another child?"

"The Disability Pass."

"All right. Please excuse me so I can call her down from her office," the lady says politely, then walked out of the ticket booth.

"She's so nice," Addie muses next to me.

"She is," I reply.

Auralie taps my arm. How much longer?

Not much.

She grins, then turns to Addie. The two quickly spark up a conversation about what things they're going to do first. EC and Allison quickly join in. It's such an adorable sight--and to think I was worried that the kids would never get along with Aura because she's Deaf. Man, how wrong I was.

"I'm back!" the lady announces when she returns to the register. "The interpreter will be here shortly. Anyway, here are your passes." She hands them to me and grins when I politely take them from her hands. "How are you paying today?"

"Me," someone says from behind me. "Just put their stuff under my name, Clarissa. They're a family friend."

"Yes, of course, Officer Vanessa," she says.

I turn around to see her. It really is Vanessa.

"Hey, Noah," she greets with a sad smile. "How've you been?"

"I've been all right. What're you doing down here?"

"I'm the last interpreter," she explains. "So here I am. I take it you need me for Auralie?"

I chuckle. "Yeah. Thanks."

"You look like you haven't slept," she points out as we walk away from the line.

"Not really. I've... I've been worried about Mike." I chuckle nervously, then sigh. "It's been months. I just really hope he's okay."

"He's been struggling. He keeps finding more and more ways to hurt himself every time he has a flashback or a nightmare. But he's been fine," she assures me when she notices my anxious fidgeting. "He's trying really hard to work on himself. He's still looking for a healthy coping mechanism, but if you ask me, I think he found it."

"That's... That's amazing. Good for him." I turn to Auralie and the kids. "Come here, goofballs. Come get your stuff."

Once everybody has their things, the kids drag me to the elevators. They desperately want to see the stage floor show since we missed it last time, which was Auralie's first time here. They're all excited to have her see it. Vanessa runs after us, laughing.

When we get to the stage floor, I help Auralie pull out her foldable crutches from the bag she keeps hanging from her wheelchair handles. She likes to stand when there's music so she can feel the vibrations it makes. Once she's standing, I pull EC's collapsible noise-canceling headphones out of my pocket and put them on him. He flinches, startled, but looks at me with a wide grin.

Just in time. Harmless white smoke starts to pour out from the fog machines at the corners of the stage. The lights turn on and the music starts to fade in. The announcer's silhouette comes into view and they step out of the smoke.

"Who's ready to see Freddy and his friends?" Michael shouts excitedly into the microphone in his hand.

Auralie exclaims in delight when she sees who the announcer is. Addie, Allison, and EC squeal and talk to each other about how long it has been since their father has been the stage announcer.

He looks great. Like, really great. He's wearing nice, tannish-brown dress pants. Of course, he has his tool belt wrapped around his waist. His employee ID is clipped on one of his pockets. He has a crisp white polo shirt on, carefully tucked in, with Sunnydrop and Moondrop-themed collar pins. He's wearing a dark blue Pizzaplex vest on top of his shirt. But he also has bandages wrapped around one of his hands and his head.

He looks happy. It might just be because he's on stage again. It might be because he's been working on himself and he's becoming a better person. But, even though I'm happy for him, I can't help but feel bad. Am I the one who's been holding back his recovery? All of the times I thought I was helping him... Was I actually hurting him? Was I the one preventing him from healing?

That has to be it.

Everything I did, it was only temporary. A way for him to get away in the moment instead of in the long run. Is that where I went wrong? Is that why he said what he said?

"I'm not healthy, and I'm not getting any better."

That has been throwing me off so much when I think back to our fight. But I think I understand what he was trying to say.

He's healthy physically. Well, as healthy as he can be for a walking corpse.

He's not healthy mentally.

And it's my fault that he hasn't been able to heal...