Doorman

Friendship

Michael and I have been working on Doorman for about a month on and off. With finals coming up and clogging up our schedules, we haven't had much time to work on it.

Michael and I.

It still seems so strange to think.

Sure, we're just friends, but I still have intense feelings for him. I still look at him and see and his face and feel like crying from his beauty. His hands moving methodically across his keyboard, the soft clacking of the keys accompanied by the occasional sigh of frustration from Michael.

I still feel breathless after he says my name. I still feel breathless as he looks me in the eye.

"Jesus, is engineering that hard?" Michael laughs.

"Wha-What?"

"You look like you can't breathe."

"Oh... no it's not that..."

I must have actually been breathless. Just thinking about Michael does that to me. Sure, it's not healthy, but what am I supposed to do about it? I can't control how I feel, and I definitely think this is better than being suicidal.

As I rest my hands on Michael's desk, I feel a hand softly grasp mine.

"Do you need to take a break?" Michael asks as his thumb rubs against my hand.

My breath is gone once again. I know Michael is trying to help. He doesn't know.

"Are you okay? I know this can be hard for y-"

"No. I'm okay, trust me."

"You're so bad at lying."

I feel cold and clammy. It's 100 degrees out and yet it's so cold.

A hand that isn't mine pushes my hair back from my forehead, and that same hand trails back and rests on the back of my head.

"Please tell me what's wrong." Michael looks me in the eyes again, and it sends a shock through my body.

My heart is beating so fast it doesn't feel as if it is beating at all. How does he do this to me?

"I feel like I can't breathe." I manage to say, the words passing through dry lips.

"What can I do to help you?"

Since we've started spending time together, Michael has been working on learning how to handle my breakdowns. The first time this happened was... not great to say the least.

We had only been hanging out for about a week at this point, and I was still learning how to properly interact with someone who isn't Taylor.

"So... programming... what's that like?" I asked, trying to refrain from using finger guns.

"Uh... It's programming..." Michael chewed on his bottom lip, trying to figure out how to answer without being too technical, "It's like learning another language, because that's what it really is. Computer language."

After Michael started, I was trying so hard to pay attention that I wasn't paying attention to his words, but his voice. I started freaking out because I realized I was going to be able to listen to him all the time.

My breathing was labored and I started to hear the rush of blood in my ears.

"[Y/N]." Michael's voice brings me back to the present, away from the memory of just a few months prior.

"I'm sorry." The pressure in my chest starts to build and I recognize this feeling better than love.

The familiar feeling of a panic attack fills my body and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, the intense anger I feel toward myself for doing this.

Michael scoots his chair closer to me, "There's no reason to be sorry. You aren't doing anything wrong."

"You don't understand."

"I want to understand."

I'm shaking as I lay my hand on his knee for support, "Just stay here, but don't look at me."

"Okay." Michael's hand leaves my head.

The rising and falling of my chest mirrors his. He must be trying to match my breathing, trying to feel how I feel.

One thing I admire about Michael, his ability to emulate.