“They helping?”
“A little.”
“Want to head to bed?”
“Why, Mr. Frazier. Are you propositioning me?”
Mike sputters a bit at that. Sean laughs.
It’s good. All of it. They’re together like this. Quiet and soft. It’s good.
“Not yet,” Sean says. “I like where I’m at.”
Mike does too. “Okay.”
“Stay? For a little while?”
Mike does.
LATER, WHEN it’s full dark, he puts Sean to bed. Sean’s already asleep by the time his head hits the pillow.
Mike makes sure his alarm is wound and set, and before he leaves, he leans down and presses a kiss against Sean’s forehead. He lingers, briefly, before pulling away.
XIII
HE’S WALKING home. The moon’s out (like a big pizza pie, he thinks, because that’s… amore) and the stars are twinkling. There’s a bit of a bite to the air, but they’re on the wrong side of summer now, heading full-on into fall, so it’s expected. It’s okay. He’s warm enough, and halfway home. He’s thinking of making a sandwich and some soup, something simple before he goes to bed. Martin will be cranky because his own dinner is late, but he’ll get over it after a while. Mike is good. He’s happy. He’s relieved Sean’s asleep. Everything’s fine.
He’s a few blocks from home and whistling a little song. He thinks it might be that love shack song that Donald always has on the brain, but he can’t be sure. It doesn’t matter. He’s got a tune on his lips and a song in his heart, and the moon is bright, bright, bright.
And then it’s like he’s
(not)
here.
He stops.
And thinks, What?
“Fo sho,” he says, and then he
(doesn’t)
(does)
feel the need to say it again. Because fo sho.
He shakes his head. It’s late. He’s tired.
He takes another step.
Amorea melts around him and he’s horizontal, looking up at the sky, floating a few feet off the ground. The air around him shimmers and there are machines around him, these machines that are attached to him, and he’s weaker than he’s ever been, sluggish and heavy. He can barely find the strength to keep his eyes open. There are voices around him, shapes he can’t quite make out, out of focus, his vision hazy. He’s starting to panic.
He thinks, I
(am)
(am not)