Work Text:
Mike stretched out on his bed, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling. The air in his room was freezing, wind blowing in through the open window, but he didn’t move to close it. Instead, he propped his hands behind his head and watched his breath mist in the cold of the air. It helped him focus. Reminded him of the last time he’d been that cold. Of course happiness was relative by that point. Even the happy memories hurt to think about.
The last time he’d been that cold had been at Jenny’s. He’d been determined to make a snowman with what little snow he could pick up, ice cold powder freezing his fingers until they burned. Ryan had just laughed and let him continue, despite Jenny’s chastising. You’re going to get frostbite! she had teased, but Mike just laughed and continued. When he was done, he had a six-inch tall snowman sitting on the windowsill and blistered red fingers. Ryan had helped him find some toothpicks for arms and kissed his hands until they were warm again. They’d had hot chocolate and taste-tested a few dishes that Jenny was experimenting with and Mike had forgotten his scarf when they’d finally stumbled home, but he had been happy.
That was all in the past now. Ryan was long gone. Mike knew he’d been stupid to try and force things with him. Ryan was a loose cannon, someone who didn’t like commitments. And he’d proved that the last time he walked out on Mike.
Nymeria whined, jumping up onto the bed and nosing at Mike’s hand. He absentmindedly petted the terrier, finally sitting up. “At least I’ve still got you, huh girl?” She woofed in agreement and Mike couldn’t stop a smile. It faded quickly when he realized that he’d once again be eating dinner alone in front of the TV. All he had was his dog to keep him company, and wasn’t that just sad?
When he finally got out of bed and shut the window, Mike let out a heavy sigh. He walked to the kitchen, dragging his feet the whole time. Nymeria trotted after him, poking her head between his legs to peer into the open fridge.
”What do you think?” Mike asked, looking down. “Pizza again? Maybe some pasta.” He was pretty sure they had some leftover spaghetti. He wasn’t about to feed that to his dog, but she didn’t mind some pasta sauce every now and then. He fished out the plastic container that held the remains of last night’s dinner and dropped it on the counter. Was this really what he had been reduced to? Breaking up with a guy twice his age and eating leftover spaghetti for three days?
Mike distinctly remembered every second he’d spent with Ryan; that was his problem. No matter where he went, some memory would spring up unbidden. Swaying together in the kitchen to some old song on the radio. Kissing on the couch while watching Star Wars. Spending time in bed…well, that went without saying. Even in his own apartment, the place that was supposed to be his sanctuary, he couldn’t escape the memories of Ryan fucking Hardy.
”I shouldn’t call him,” he told himself. As if fate had read his mind, the phone started ringing. Mike only had to look once to see the number. He spent the next five rings trying not to pick up. Memories had to stay in the past.
When the phone finally stopped ringing (there was no voicemail left, of course) Mike let go of the breath he’d been holding. Suddenly, he didn’t feel very hungry.