borderline / muke

seven

"You know what I think?" Michael told me through the phone four nights later. His voice was soft and cheerful and I could hear silverware clinking together in the backround.

I grinned, pushing the spatula through the pasta in the pan in front of me. My apartment smelt of sauce and different herbs, the aroma comforting me. "What do you think, Michael?"

"I think," he started, pausing for dramatic effect. I rolled my eyes. "that you should come over here and eat dinner with me."

"Depends on what we're having." I set the spatula down on the counter, leaning against it. My eyes fluttered to the kitchen window, silently watching the giant, puffy snowflakes fall to the ground quietly. I was really over winter time.

"It's a surprise."

I glanced behind me at the food cooking on the stove. "But I'm already making dinner."

"But..." he muttered sadly. I could picture him with the kicked puppy look on his face, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. "I want you to have dinner with me."

I really had no more excuses as to why I couldn't just hop in the car and drive over there, I just liked hearing him beg for it. It was nice hearing how much someone wanted my company.

"Well..." I teased.

"Please, Lukey," Michael pleaded, using that stupid baby voice that got him whatever he wanted. "I have wiiiiine, it'll be fun."

I rolled my eyes again, a laugh escaping my mouth. "Fine, god. I can never resist wine. I'll be over in a bit."

Michael and I hung up after that and I stood at the counter, letting out a deep breath. It had been a couple days since Michael had shown up at my store completely catatonic, almost dead on his feet. After he'd fallen asleep, I tried my best to slip out of his bed without waking him. He'd made little whimpers to himself, his hand unconsciously reaching for me, until he let out a deep breath and fell all the way back asleep. I'd stood in the hallway outside his bedroom for over twenty minutes, my hand over my mouth and tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I felt overwhelmed, and a little bit hysterical. I was so worried about him, even after I'd left his apartment building. What was the matter with him? I had no idea which was the real Michael; the happy, positive one that I first met on our Fake Date, or the one that I witnessed the other day at the grocery store.

In the short time I'd been friends with Michael, I'd learned one thing: just don't fucking bring it up. Realistically, it was none of my business, but he was my friend and I didn't want anything bad to happen to him. So I just didn't mention any of the bad things. When he was ready to discuss it, he'd let me know. I had the strong urge to protect him, even if it was from himself.

I sighed, shutting off the stove and putting the food in plastic tins to hear up later. Shutting off the kitchen and living room lights, I grabbed my keys and my coat, leaving my apartment to head to Michael's.

*****

I knocked twice really hard on the wooden door, hoping to be heard over the music Michael was playing inside. I only stood waiting for about ten seconds before I heard the patting of little feet on the floor.

The door was pulled open to reveal Michael, a lazy smile on his pale face. He was dressed in tight black sweatpants and a gray and black flannel. It hung loosely off his left shoulder, revealing a sharp, prominent collarbone. He looked warm and snuggly, fuzzy socks covering his feet.

"Just the face I was hoping to see!" Michael exclaimed, smiling brightly. His fingers wrapped around my bicep, pulling me into the house.

"Were you planning on having someone else over?" The first thing I did was shrug off my jacket, since Michael seemed to favor having the heat set on eight thousand. His heating bill must be enormous.