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Summary
Michael takes his time and tips the glass back; he enjoys watching you squirm and you absolutely know that he does. He swirls the alcohol around for a minute before swallowing, and then stretches his legs out a bit more, arm coming down on the rest so that he can press his chin into his palm.
There's quiet beats of minutes between you two, pulling up the tension until you're ready to explode.
"Michael––"
"You should just go for it, you know."
"No, I clearly don't know."
"You're gonna make me say it?"
"Say what?"
"Richie ain't gonna be single forever, you know."
OR
michael's always known about the two of you and the looks you constantly shoot one another, but neither of you ever have had the guts to tell each other. because friends just shotgun smoke into each other's lungs and stay over at each other's houses. and friends just hook up in the chicago lights in a darkened room, watching the pretty image you make in the mirror.