𝑀𝑖𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑒𝑙 𝐽𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝐼𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 • 𝐕𝐨𝐥.𝟑

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐲 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲

~ Freaky Friday ~
~*Part Six*~

~*~*~

It had been a week since that difficult night-the night when everything came crashing down, the night we finally faced our feelings head-on, no more hiding or dodging the truth. The air had been thick with words we'd left unsaid for too long, and though we had reached an understanding, the wounds were still fresh, and the path to healing was a slow one, strewn with the debris of what we once were.

I found myself in the kitchen, my hands busy with the familiar chore of cleaning up. It was a task that required just enough attention to keep my mind from wandering too far into the emotional turmoil that still lingered. Each swipe of the sponge, each clink of dishes, was a small step towards normalcy, a routine that offered comfort in its simplicity. The warm, soapy water running over my hands was a welcome distraction, a way to focus on something tangible.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Michael lounging on the couch in the living room. He had his feet propped up on the coffee table, the remote in his hand as he aimlessly flipped through channels. The TV flickered with images of a show neither of us cared about, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes barely focused on the screen. His body was relaxed, but I knew him too well-there was a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

The quiet between us wasn't uncomfortable; it was the kind of silence that settles in after a storm, when the worst is over but the debris is still scattered. We were both walking on eggshells, careful not to say anything that might set off another wave of emotions we weren't ready to deal with.

As I wiped down the counter, I decided to break the silence. "Anything interesting on?" I called out, my voice carrying across the room, trying to sound casual, as if everything was perfectly normal.

Michael looked up, his eyes meeting mine. There was a softness in his gaze, a warmth that had been missing for too long. "Not really," he replied with a small smile. "Just background noise."

"Same old, same old," I said with a chuckle, turning back to the sink to start on the dishes. The sound of running water and the clinking of plates filled the air, a familiar melody that accompanied the mundane yet comforting task. It felt good, grounding, like we were slowly finding our way back to the life we used to know.

As I scrubbed the last dish, Michael appeared beside me, drying his hands on a dish towel. "Need any help?" he asked, his voice gentle, as if testing the waters.

I shook my head, smiling at the simple offer. "I've got it under control. But I wouldn't mind the company."

He leaned against the counter, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body next to mine. "I can do that."

The silence that stretched between us wasn't empty; it was filled with the unspoken understanding that we were both trying, in our own ways, to bridge the gap that had formed between us. We were healing, slowly but surely, and this quiet moment was a step in that direction.