Michaels in Love (BoyXBoy) English

Chapter 30 - Season 1: The Collapse

An hour had passed, but I was a ghost at work, moving through the motions without really being there. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a storm I couldn't escape. I hadn't realized how absent I must have seemed until Bryan, one of my fellow crew members, nudged me gently.

"Hey, man, are you okay?" Bryan asked, his voice tinged with concern as I stood frozen near a table in the center of the food court.

"Yes, Bryan," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't look okay," he said, his brows knitting together. "You're pale..."

But his words barely registered. The world around me felt distant, the sounds muffled, and the faces blurred. Suddenly, the room spun, and I instinctively gripped the edge of a table for support.

"What?" I said, shaking my head as if to clear the haze.

"You're not yourself. Are you sure you're alright?" Bryan's worry deepened, his hand resting on my shoulder.

"Yes. I'm fine," I insisted, though my voice betrayed the truth. "Let's just get back to work."

He hesitated but finally nodded, and we resumed clearing tables.

"Boy, clean this table, will you?" called a woman sitting nearby. She was in her early 30s, accompanied by two transgender women. It seemed they'd been waiting a while for someone to clean up.

Bryan, sensing my hesitation, spoke up. "Go ahead, Michael. I'll handle things here. Let's move quickly; we've got a lot more to clean up."

I approached their table, my hands trembling slightly as I began clearing the clutter. The women's conversation, sharp and biting, drifted into my ears as I worked.

"Hey, have you heard? Earl is dead," said the woman, her voice tinged with a mix of drama and morbid curiosity.

"What? Earl, the one who acts so macho?" one of her companions gasped, her eyes wide with shock.

"Oh my God, what happened? What did he die of?" the other chimed in, leaning closer as though savoring the gossip.

"Lymphoma, they say," the woman replied, her tone conspiratorial. Then she added, with a cold laugh, "But honestly, I think he had AIDS."

AIDS. The word struck like a slap in the air, heavy and accusatory.

"What?" one of the trans women exclaimed, her voice rising. "Why do you always blame AIDS whenever someone gay dies? Couldn't it have been a heart attack or something else? Besides, I heard from his friends he'd been in and out of the hospital for a while."

"Maybe he was undergoing chemo," the other suggested, her tone more thoughtful.

"Well, maybe," the woman retorted with confidence, "but it's probably because he had HIV-AIDS. Why else would he be in the hospital so often?"

Her words dripped with judgment, each syllable sharper than the last. It was as if she'd made it her mission to seal Earl's memory in shame.

I quickened my pace, wiping the table clean as fast as I could. I didn't want to hear any more. Earl was gone—wasn't that enough? Why couldn't they let him rest in peace instead of dissecting his death with such cruelty?

"Didn't you study nursing?" one of the trans women asked, arching an eyebrow at the woman.

"I did," she replied smugly, as though her degree gave her words more weight.

"Ah, that explains why you failed the board exams," the other quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Why would Earl undergo chemo if he had HIV-AIDS? Use your brain, girl!"