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”You should probably clean your room,” Michael says.
“You’re not my mom, so shut up,” Adam huffs as he weaves his way through the mess covering the floor.
“But she said‒”
“I know what she said. Shut up already!” Adam snaps and marches into the kitchen. He purposely avoids looking back at the other, who shuffles into the room after him. He pushes the chair against the counter with a bit too much force and climbs on it to reach the bowls in the cupboard.
When he jumps of the stool to get the milk from the fridge, he catches a side-glance of the other boy perching on the back of a chair, eyes on the floor. He doesn’t react even when Adam brings his bowl on the table and Adam can’t help that his gaze wonders from the cereals he’s pouring across the table to the angel that just sits there, wings drooping miserably. The awkward silence stretches until Adam can’t take it anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles staring at the bowl. “I… I know it’s not your fault she had to leave to the hospital.”
“It’s okay,” Michael raises his eyes from the floor and smiles a little. “I understand.”
After that, the silence becomes a little less uneasy. Just before Adam’s goes bed, he rounds the house, making sure that the doors are locked. He turns off the lights after himself and climbs upstairs to his room.
Michael is already curled on the bed and doesn’t budge from his place at the edge of the bed, leaving Adam to scramble over him and wriggle his way under the sheets. After a while in the darkness, Adam turns at his side, wraps his arms tightly around the angel and buries his face into his back. “Are you still mad at me?” he whispers.
Michael sighs before turning around. “No. I could never be mad at you,” he says looping his own arms around Adam and draping a wing over them.