TOUGH LOVE • MICHAEL GRAY FANFIC

2

I try to maintain my emotions, I try to stand there and not looked shocked or disappointed, it even remotely upset. For heaven sake, I have no clue of what I feel. But I think I fail tremendously, because Mary looks over at me and her jaw literally drops to the floor once Henry says my name out loud.

"Oh fuck!" She gasps, putting her hand over her mouth. Her eyes widen, which only makes me more nervous.

I look away, feeling his glare. I look away and my eyes circle the room, feeling my body heat up. Christ. I feel like my hearts about to fucking explode. My face might just burn off too. Fuck.

"Leave. Now." His voice booms with power.

I look up, fearful that he might be talking to me, but his eyes fall on the guards, who get up and walk away. He mentions Mary who nods various times like some sort of puppet, she exits too. And shuts the door. I almost lose my cool with her, she's absolutely ridiculous. Leaving me here with him.

I flush, glancing down at my fingers. I take a deep breath, telling myself to speak.

"You work here?" He asks, and when I fix my eyes on his, Michael's eyes blaze into my skin.

"Yes." I whisper, "I'm a nurse."

"Nurse." He nods, but frowns, pouting. "Like when we were kids, and you'd insist on checking our temperatures when we were sick." He chuckles, "You remember?"

How could I not? I was always a little excited when the others fell ill, it meant the nurses would come by and check on them, I would try to learn alongside. Shadowing and doing things to help as best I could. Henry picks up his smokes, putting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it up.

I watch in dismay, "You smoke now?"

He sucks on it , pulling it back and looking down at the stick and nodding, "I guess so."

I pale, and Henry runs a hand thorough his hair, putting it back between his lips. He studies me, drinking me up, as I turn away, wondering how he ended up with the Blinders. His green eyes fill with darkness, as I remember the last time we saw each other was when he left with Mr and Mrs. Johnson.

There is no way in hell such a holy pair would let their foster child end up with a gang. That day he was picked up and saved by the Johnsons, I remember being left with Father John Hughes. Crying my eyes out as he was whisked away with that family, and I was left with Father.

That was almost a decade ago. We were only 12 when he was taken from me.

"I wrote you." He croaks, shutting his book before helping himself up to stand. My instinct is to help him, but he's got a cane to help him rise. "You never wrote me back, June. Why?" He accuses me of something I did not know of until now.

"When did you ever write me?" I seize, my gaze narrowing.

Henry is no longer a little boy, no, that part of him has expired. I see a man of staggering difference than the person I knew growing up. Everything about Henry has changed, and that boy filled with life has morphed into a man of height and healthy weight.

He stands there, and I can't help but wither under his stare. "I wrote you every weekend, made sure to be careful. I-I made sure to address formally to make it seem like it was a foster family or something. I wrote you every weekend and for months I sat by the post office waiting for your letter to me back."

His words tug at my heart, knowing how much we once meant to each other. There was no words ever exchanged about our feelings, but there was no need for it to be expressed. We were children who had hope of seeing each other again! The love we had was innocent and shy, just like us. All of these picture perfect memories that I had locked up and forgotten about come rushing in. I missed you so much, Henry. The world stills as I reach for those memories and allow myself to feel again. I needed you, and you weren't there, God. I needed you.