A blaring horn.
The screech of tires.
A sickening crunch.
I open my eyes slowly, a loud ringing in my left ear. What just happened? I think, blinking in confusion.
"Who is he?" I ask.
"You don't know him?"
"I've never seen him before in my life."
"...
I follow the GPS instructions to Micheals house. I watch as the houses shrink from the two-story high rises to small bungalows with dim streetlights. At one intersection, I can clearly see the divide between two neighbourhoods, almost like it was drawn in chalk.
Don't get me wrong; it's a nice neighbourhood, but it's clear that some houses haven't been cared for or painted in years, most gardens are dead or overgrown, and in the dark, the only lights on are automatic porch lights.
Okay, maybe it's not so nice.
I park on the street outside of the house the GPS tells me is Micheals. I stare at it for a minute, just to verify that it actually could be his. I see his car in the driveway, and as I check my phone to double check the address, another message from Micheal shines on my screen.
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I don't reply, just climb out of my car, making sure to lock the door. As I walk around the left side of the house, I hear faint noises from inside, almost like yelling. I move quickly over to the first window I see and tap lightly on the glass. I wait for a minute, but no one answers.
I peer inside the window, trying to see if Micheals there.
The first thing I notice is that the room is very clean. The door to the closet is closed, and no excess clothes are scattered over the floor. The bed is made, and his bedside table is basically empty, with only the lamp on. Then I notice the piano. It looks old but well-loved. The black of the wood is still shiny, though there are a few scratches. The weirdest thing about it is that it's shoved against what appears to be the only other door in the room.
And then I see Micheal.
I almost didn't notice him. He's wearing his usual all-black, except his white earbuds are replaced by black headphones. His knees are tucked up to his chest, and he's clutching his head in his hands, hands cupped over the headphones. I can't see his face, but his entire posture looks stiff like he'd be able to jump up at any second.
I knock again, this time a bit louder. He still doesn't react.
Sighing, I open up the window. Using the side of the house and the windowsill, I somehow manage to clamber into his room without falling face-first into the hardwood floors.
Micheals' head snaps up as soon as I get fully in the window. I notice how red his face is, and how dark his eyes are.
"Kayla..." he says as if he's surprised to see me. "I- I'm sorry..." He trails off, looking lost. After a moment he seems to realize he's still wearing his headphones and whips them off his head and onto his neck ferociously. Through them, I hear that same song from yesterday.
My favourite colour is you.
Both of us are just standing awkwardly in his bedroom, so I just go ahead and ask, gently, "What song is that?"
"Oh, you can hear it?" Micheal stutters, quickly pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning off the music. "Sorry, I didn't realize it was so loud, I thought-"
"It's okay," I say, going to stand beside him. "I... like it."
Micheal looks up at me, as if to see if I'm joking, then he smiles. Not for long, but just for a second.
"It's, umm..." he says quietly, backing up to sit on his bed. "Sober Up. It's by this band, umm, AJR." He sounds embarrassed. It's clear he knows the song well and doesn't need to think about the title or artist, but he hesitated anyways.
"I heard it yesterday," I say, joining him on his bed. "When you were leaving."
"Oh, yeah," he laughs faintly, though it sounds forced. "That. Sorry, I didn't realize it was so loud."
"Why do you keep apologizing?" I whisper, looking at his face, though he won't meet my eyes.
Suddenly, there's a huge crash, followed by what sounds like sobbing. Micheal and I both flinch, though he doesn't look at the door like I do. I look back at Micheal, hoping for an explanation.
"Right... that," Micheal says quietly. "So, Kayla, I..." He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, and I hear him breathe in shakily. "You know? It's okay, actually. I'm sorry you drove all this way, but I think..." He trails off again, then drops his head into his hands.
"Micheal?" I ask hesitantly. I see his shoulders shake, and I realize he's crying again. "Micheal?" I ask again, putting my hand on his back.
He reacts as if I burned him, shooting up off the bed and rushing halfway across the room, hands in fists.
"I'm sorry," he says after a shocked silence from the both of us. "I'm sorry, it's just... I've never..." He puts his head in his hands again, then rips his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what to say."
I think for a moment, then grab the pair of earbuds I see on his bedside table. I don't know what I'm doing, but I pick up his phone from the bed and plug the earbuds in. Walking over to Micheal, I put one earbud in my ear and hand him the other. The song is still queued up when I turn the phone on, and I look at the colourful album cover as I rewind the song to the beginning. It looks hand drawn, with multicoloured clouds framing the centre of the drawing. In the middle, three characters walk along a piano keyboard. It looks warm but dark.
It reminds me of Micheal.
"Then don't say anything," I whisper, pressing play on the phone. Tucking it into his pocket, I pull him into a hug as the sound of a cello flood through one ear and into my brain. The lyrics start, and I feel a smile pulling on my lips.
