“Mike?” Sea
n sounds much more awake now. And worried. A hand falls on Mike’s arm, and it’s real, it’s more real than anything that’s happened tonight, so he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out and pulling Sean to him. He buries his nose in the crook of Sean’s neck, holding on and breathing him in. He feels Sean’s arms wrap around him, hands rubbing up and down his back. Mike’s shaking, and it’s not as if he’s cold, but he doesn’t know how to stop.
He doesn’t want to move, and Sean’s not letting him go, so he waits. Waits for his heart to stop racing, waits for his mind to clear. Through the fog, he hears Sean whispering in his ear, and he’s saying, “Yeah, big guy. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you now, big guy. It’s okay.” And it’s enough to pull him back from whatever edge he was hanging over, enough to stop those terrible shakes. His face is wet, and he knows he should be embarrassed (and probably will be, when this all blows over), but for now, it’s enough.
EVENTUALLY HE calms down enough for Sean to take him by the hand and pull him inside the house. It’s dark, but Sean maneuvers Mike deftly through the den and down the hall to the bedroom. He closes the door behind them, and Mike wonders vaguely who it’s supposed to keep out.
He’s standing next to the bed, feeling useless. Helpless. He doesn’t know what to do. What to say. How to explain everything. How he came to be here. Where he was tonight. Everything he’s seen. Everything he hears. He doesn’t want Sean to look at him like he’s crazy. Worse, like he doesn’t believe Mike. All the words are stuck in his throat, and he can’t get them out.
Sean’s in front of him. “Don’t have anything that will fit you. You’re like two of me. But those jeans can’t be comfortable, so I’m going to help you out. You okay with that, big guy?”
Mike takes a moment before he nods.
“All right. I’m not trying to get fresh with you, so no ideas.” He kneels down in front of Mike, almost as if in veneration. He’s untying Mike’s shoes, and it’s precious, this simple act. First one, and then the other. He taps Mike’s left leg and Mike lifts it, watching as Sean slides the shoe off before doing the same to the other side. He sets the Chucks off to the side, next to the bed. He stands, knees popping. “We’re gonna get those pants off, okay?”
Mike nods.
“You have underpants on, big guy?”
Mike flushes, but nods again. He remembers putting them on before he left the house to go… to go to—
“Okay. It’s okay. We’re good.”
He’s breathing heavily, like he’s working himself up again.
“Hey.”
He looks at Sean, gaze skirting off as soon as he meets Sean’s eyes. It’s almost too much.
“Hey,” Sean says, and Mike can’t help but look back at him. “You with me?”
He’s not sure. He says, “Yeah,” and it’s hoarse, like his voice hasn’t been used in a long time.
Or like he’s been screaming.
There’s a brief fumble with the buttons, and Mike feels the backs of Sean’s fingers against the skin of his stomach. It’s just a brush, a barely there touch, but it grounds him further. The zipper is loud in all that quiet. It could be something sexual, something more. But it’s not. This isn’t physical; that’s not what Mike wants right now. It’s intimacy, simple and easy, and Mike doesn’t have this with anyone else. He doesn’t want it with anyone else. He knows he’s going to have to explain himself, knows how terrible it’s all going to sound. But he doesn’t want to lose this. These little moments where it’s just Mike and Sean and nothing else matters.
He lifts one leg at a time and Sean pulls the jeans down and tosses them to the side. He stands again, and Mike hasn’t felt this vulnerable since… well. He can’t remember the last time he felt this vulnerable, and that just adds to everything. Because he can’t remember, can’t remember anything before Amorea, and he knows that now. He doesn’t know where he came from. What kind of a life he had. Who his friends were. He remembers being in Amorea the first day, but nothing before that. There’s the distinct sense he came from somewhere, but when he tries to focus on it, it’s only known as Away. He came from Away to Amorea and found someone to love.
(There’s that part too, that small part that says, What about before? What if you loved then? What if you were loved in return? But he leaves that part alone because it’s dangerous and he doesn’t think he wants any part of it.)
Sean steers him gently to the bed, pulling back the ruffled sheet and comforter, and Mike sinks down onto it for the first time. It’s soft and warm and it smells like Sean and home. He’s scared, more scared than he’s been in a long time, but it’s better now. He lies on his side, facing the other side of the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sean coming round. He’s trying hard not to curl up in a little ball and pull the comforter over his head because he doesn’t want to worry Sean more than he already has. He may not know how he got here, but he knows why. He just wishes there were another way.
Sean climbs into bed beside him and lies on the pillow. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly and then turns to his side, mirroring Mike. Their faces are close together, and their knees bump. Mike pulls the comforter up to their shoulders so they’re safe.
Mike can feel Sean’s breath on his face, they’re so close. Sean has this freckle, this little freckle on the bridge of his nose that’s always fascinated Mike. He doesn’t know why. It’s nothing extraordinary. Except maybe that it’s part of Sean, and everything about Sean fascinates Mike. Even when he was sure Sean was better off without him, better off with someone his own age, he’d been fascinated. He doesn’t know why it hit so hard, just that it did.
Sean reaches up between them and traces a finger over Mike’s eyebrows, the lightest of touches. Mike lets him, because he’d let him do anything. It’s just how he is. Ever since that first day, Mike hasn’t been the sole owner of his heart anymore. He knows that now, even if he didn’t understand it then.
“Better?” Sean whispers. There’s no one to overhear them (though Mike doesn’t know how true that is), but it seems fitting to do this as quietly as possible.
Mike shrugs. Then, “A little,” because Sean deserves the truth.
The fingers on his eyebrows brush over his forehead. The tip of his nose. His cheeks, his bottom lip. “Good.”
And then he falls silent.
Mike waits.