Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I think I talk too much
I need to listen, baby

The pressure pushes on my chest till I’m sitting with my back against the seat, the feeling of the plane lifting off the concrete almost overwhelming. I shut my eyes, squeezing them and my jacket sleeves until I hear the soft bell overhead. I take the pretzels and I ask for water. Thankfully, with it being a late flight, not many people were on the plane. I actually had the whole row to myself. It was nice, in the aspect that nobody besides the flight attendants could see me freaking out.

This is bold, risky. I’m taking chances against the worst odds that he’d forgive and want me back at the same time. I don’t even know where to begin, the paper in my jacket had the whole speech written down but to have it memorized would have me stuttering every consonant. Reading it from the paper though? I shake my head the tiniest bit, hands shaking as they lift to change the song on my phone.

Still, I needed something genuine and if I sifted through my feelings to try and be poetic at a time my nerves would be shot? Forget it. I’d say some stupid shit and he’d kick me to the curb.

No. I just needed to be honest. Honest and sincere. And definitely not desperate.

A flash of his face ran through my mind, unable to think about anything else. I felt useless in that moment, unable to reach him or comfort him, to apologize or anything. I couldn’t talk or text him, couldn’t reach over and wipe his tears away, couldn’t do anything. I was useless.

And it was my fault he was crying.

I did that.

And once I remembered such a fact, suddenly flying across the country to him didn’t seem so silly.

I needed him to understand the few short days I had with him, the talks we shared, the song he wrote for me— it meant the world to me. How was I supposed to move on when he still thought I didn’t want him or that he made me uncomfortable when I’m just so goddamn stupid that I can’t read a room?

After four hours of panicking, the attendants make their rounds and gather the trash. Thirty minutes after that, the plane lands. I sat towards the back so it took another few minutes, (re: seven to be exact. Some guy had trouble with his luggage.) and when I stepped off the plane with nothing but my wallet, phones and earbuds, and the clothes on my back it set in how bad this looked. I knew it was a crazy idea from the start. From when I checked into my flight to when I boarded the plane but when you’re in the middle of an airport in the middle of a city you’ve never been in for a guy— the panic was to be expected.

The next step was to get comfortable and wait till the morning, it was too early and too late to be moving around the place. Besides, my eyes were a little… crusty. I didn’t really have enough money to be renting a hotel either. I just barely had enough to get over here, the money from the next paycheck wouldn’t be coming for another three days.

Did I… nope, nope, I will not be dwelling on this. I will not be stressing over anything else.

Fuck I hope I don’t smell too bad.

———

I need to listen, baby
I need to listen good

It is two in the afternoon, and after sleeping in the airport for almost ten hours, I sit in the back of a lyft driver. The car’s interior is clean, there isn’t any trash and the nylon seats were soft and there’s a combined smell of both that freshly vacuumed smell and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. The driver isn’t smoking now, so there’s that. They don’t talk to me, on a call with some woman, though the phone wasn’t in their hand it was in the stereo.

I put in my earbuds, holding my phone close to my torso as I watched the rain cling to the window, passing shops and cars as we got closer and closer to his place. His apartment.

We stop about three streets from his actual apartment building, which is actually part of an apartment complex. A detail I missed, apparently. I’m already shaking more than I should be but I still say thanks, something I think the driver missed when they peel out, almost splashing me with water. The rain doesn’t let up even when I make my way to the closest building, grinding my teeth to avoid them clacking. Checking the address again for the building… building 14.

Shoving my phone and earbuds into my jacket, I make it quick, looking for the number on the building as rain pelts into my eyes.

I am drenched in the matter of seconds, hair clinging to my head already as I head back under cover. I curse under my breath, my jacket is wet and I don’t know how long my phone and earbuds are going to last like this.

Cowering under the cover of building fucking three .

Looking around, the buildings didn’t seem to be that far apart and maybe if I waited…

It takes an hour before the rain calms down enough so I can start making my way through the complex. Luck isn’t on my side when I am just four buildings away from Micah’s when it pours again and the building’s number system switches up. A lump forms in my throat as I’m about to start kicking bricks. Why the fuck am I looking at building 20?

———

I spend too much time explainin' myself
I hope there's some time to change it

When I’m under the cover of building 14, I climb the three fucking flights of stairs to his floor, slipping on the concrete steps every landing I get to. I’m so cold, so tired, and so on edge and when I find his apartment— the distance between the stairs and the door is small but so astronomically large. Every step takes forever for my feet to move, my limbs trembling, from the rain or the nerves, who knows? My hand reaches out and makes a fist, standing at his door and I take a deep breath in. I breathe out, rapping my fist against the wood three times, calling out, “Micah? It’s… it’s me.” I say, looking down at my beat up, wet converse.

There’s no answer.

My heart beats faster as my thoughts get ahead of me. I knock several more times after that and when no one is looking, I put my ear to the door, and I hear silence. Not even a fan going.

What if he’s not home?

What if he left?

What if he couldn’t stand the thought of you finding his address and finding him and he moved to avoid you forever-

A meow cuts through my thoughts, I can hear the slight thud vibrate through the door and another meow. A slight mrp sings in the air and I let out a breath that resembled close to a sob… resembled. “Skrunkly? Is Micah home?” She answers back and yeah, I feel a little weird talking to his cat without him there— especially in this situation. What would he say, if he found me there, face pressed against the surface talking through the door to his cat? Asking for him when he’s not home?

I lean away, and turn my back against the brick again. I don't know what time he gets out of work and I don’t know his usual schedule. Flash of his saddened face, the way his smile had crumbled and tears gathered in his eyes… it doesn’t seem like Micah to stay out for long, even if he had work.

An ache settles into my chest and I press a hand there, fingers spreading against my damp clothes. It hurts. I did this to him and I made him hurt… and it hurts me so.

The pain had diminished with the worries that he’d turned me away but with nothing but my thoughts, I can’t help but replay the memory over and over.

Back against the wall, I check my things over. Wallet, somewhat wet, my pants did fuck all for me but it seems decent. And against all odds, my earbuds are okay. My phone…

I’m not thinking about my phone. Okay. I breathe in again, holding it even as I hear people come up the stairs, breathing out after four beats. Repeating it as I try not to think too hard about it.

It’s about two— no, it has to be after three, had to wait for the rain to let up— and if I had to guess, he’ll probably get home around five or six. If I had to guess and give him a normal clock-out time. If he was normal.

Well…

Looking around, I can still hear the people coming up, down, out and into apartments. For some fucking reason, people just love fucking around at this time. My hand comes up to press on my forehead, closing my eyes for relief. I can’t talk without looking crazy to Skrunkly, way out of the question. I’m the only one I can talk to right now. I mouth the words, hoping they’ll sound okay when he comes back.

Micah…

Chapter Text

I can taste it, my heart's breakin', please don't say
That you know, when you know

His head is filled with cotton as he sat at his desk, staring at the monitor all day. Getting up to use the restroom, to get another bottle of water to ignore. All he could think about was their face. A flash of shock and another emotion he couldn’t figure out. It’s okay though, he thinks with an ache in his chest, he won’t be bothering them anymore. Can’t make them uncomfortable if he isn’t talking to them. Besides, it’s what they wanted. He has to respect their wishes, he doesn’t know what he’d do if he just kept- just- being him.

He’s too much, too loud, too bold, too fast— it hurts. He thought, maybe, just maybe this could be the one. They could be the one. But that just wasn’t the case. But fuck if it didn’t hurt like hell. The chemistry was there, the smiles and the jokes were there. They reached out first. They hacked him first. But maybe that’s all that was supposed to be.

Maybe they just wanted to hack him and let bygones be bygones after that.

Maybe they didn’t want him. That’s always been a possibility and maybe, worst of all, that’s always been the reality.

I can't take it, I'm impatient, tell me baby
Now I know, you should go

So he picked himself up off the side of his bed this morning, dressed in his black turtleneck, matching pants… yeah, you can see where this is going. Aside from his yellow and white accented windbreaker, he wore all black. The classic mourning outfit.

He couldn’t help it.

Dropping a hand to his beloved Skrunkly, he soaks in her sweet meows, refills her food and water before stuffing his keys, wallets and phone into his pocket. Locking the door behind him, he flips the hood up as a spray of rain hits him in the face. The accompanying wind almost takes him out.

How he manages to get into his office building in one piece is beyond him.

“Bad storm coming in, do you think they’ll let us go early?” He hears someone ask from the side, a cup of coffee in their hands.

He doesn’t listen for the answer, more than likely, they’ll be held back. Working late as always. He’s worked through worse and the manager wouldn’t even budge at his puppy eyes. They’re trapped.

So with the rain beating down the side of the building and the depressing memories of last night, he loses himself in his head. Time passes slow and fast, the time ticking down and down until he’s finally released. With nothing done but with how he’s done his reports and tasks the last few days, he can afford this slight break. Pressing fingers into his temple, he tries to lessen the headache already forming. That’s what he gets for leaning so close and lamenting.

Not to mention how the office chairs totally suck.

He doesn’t remember the drive back home, only that he remembers parking and getting out, the rain hitting harder than it did before he realized he needed some stuff for groceries. And… he didn’t want to be home for the moment. He’ll apologize to Skrunkly later but he figures she’d understand. Just a little bit.

Unbeknownst to him, he had a guest waiting for him back at home, so close to the truth and yet, he pulled away.

———

I think I worry a lot
I need to take it easy

My head hits the brick for the third time, my butt aching from sitting on it for so long and my legs keep falling asleep but every so often I’ll whack them and wiggle them and we’re back to the start. Micah, my lips forming the words but no sound coming out, I don’t even want to acknowledge how weird I look right now… too late. Forget talking to myself, I look crazier drenched to the bone, shaking like a damn chihuahua and mouthing things to myself. No sound, just movement.

Micah Yujin, fuck you for not giving me a second to explain myself.

 … too harsh.

Listen, Micah, can I call you Mikey?— yeah no, fuck that.

 Micah… Micah, Micah Micah.

My head swirling as it got foggier. Maybe that old wives tale about getting sick in the rain has some truth to it after all. I haven’t been out here long, maybe just a couple of hours. If I’m right, it should be some time after five. What am I going to say?

The paper with the speech is smudged to hell and it was written so late into the day that I can’t even remember what the words were.

Something probably along the lines… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Micah, I speak before I think and I— please don’t hate me forever.

Or something equally as embarrassing and that, depending if he took me back, friendship or more, he’d tease me forever. 

I fucked up. I hate myself for it. (It’s true, I have to admit myself, in the last twenty-four hours the resentment for myself has tripled. Hurting a good man in the name of a poorly-made joke is reasonable grounds for the hate train to make its rounds. His neutral stare at the desk makes me want to crumble into dust and mix with the dirt. Become one with the worms, if you will.) I want to make it up to you. Any way you want. If you want me gone, I can leave, I promise I’ll never bother you again. Please though, know I don’t think you’re weird or too loud, you’re enough, you’re more than enough. You’re perfect. The time we had— (god why am I getting choked up, this is just a dress rehearsal- I say as I’m wiping my eyes. I’m so funny. Hah.) I’ve never met anyone like you, no one’s ever got me the way you did, no one’s made the effort like you did. You were everything and the only reason why we’re here is because I fucked up. You didn’t do anything wrong.

… now copy and paste to my mouth.

Fuck, since I started swiping the first few stragglers during my little silent speech, they just keep coming.

… double fuck, my stomach just grumbled. Tightening. The last thing I had were those pretzels and water… on the plane. Fuck.

Food and water later. There is time to do those trivial things later when the important stuff is over. Like apologizing to the most beautiful man in the world and making sure he never cries again. And that's if he lets me.

The tears eventually stop. And when they do, the people start coming up again. With the sun quickly setting, I figure it’s probably after six now. I shut my eyes when they come onto this floor and I don’t open them till their door is shut. My head rolling to the side, I can see the sky turn from the sad gray to an even sadder gray, darker than before and it’s hard to see things until the building’s hallway lights come on, automatic. Nice, I just get to see things in the dark and hope for the best.

The oncoming nausea from the wait keeps coming in waves, nearly overwhelming me and not for the first time I sit down, pacing sometimes passes time faster, especially if you lose your mind in the middle of nowhere.

My knees come up and I rest my head on my arms and my arms on the top of my kneecaps. My clothes hadn’t dried, still that uncomfortable damp feeling, clinging to my skin. My nose started running and not for the first time, I started shivering.

I hear even footsteps, only one pair of feet this time around, come up the steps and I close my eyes, tapping on my forearm as they get closer and closer to Micah’s floor.

The footsteps stop and I frown, really hope this isn’t security or a cop telling me to beat it. Then something like plastic hits the floor and I look up at the sound and my breath is stolen from me. By the railing of the stairs stands a tall man with white streaks, wearing an all black outfit bar a familiar windbreaker.

But it goes away for a minute
When I'm with you breathing

“Micah?”

Chapter Text

As the moon ascends
The wolves come out to see the end

“Micah?” It comes out of me in a whisper, breathier than I intended. And I move to stand, my legs feeling like jello and because there had to be one where I stepped, my foot slid in a puddle trying to stand so my knees meet the concrete.

I hear him more than I see him as I push myself up and when I stand to my full height, I can see his eyes trained on me, a hand reaching out to- to catch me if I fall again.

My name falls from his lips quietly as I say his and we both stop, I try to smile but my lip wobbles as the lump comes back and my eyes water. “Oh, Angel…”

They hide from view and wait
To watch the ghost inside you come awake

“No, Micah, please, I- hear me out, please, I just. I said a stupid joke, I couldn’t- you have to believe me, I can’t stop thinking about you. I didn’t mean it- you’ve never made me uncomfortable and I- I-” I can barely feel the hands coming up to hold my jaw but I grip the wrists anyways, looking for something grounding. “Those three days meant everything to me, please, please, believe me, you mean so-” I hiccup, choking on my words as he overwhelms me, in the best way. He’s here, he’s holding onto me, he’s holding me, he’s not going anywhere. If I can just say more, make him see I didn’t mean it—

“You came all this way to apologize? You- you got on a plane, because you were worried about me?” he pulls me into his chest and all I can do is gasp for more air, inhaling the smell of him through his shirt, his jacket, clutching at the fabric at his back.

“I’m so sorry,” I cry into his shirt, trying to hold most of it in as I apologize through snot, tears and his shirt. “Fuck I am- I am so so sorry. Please forgive me, please.”

He unwinds an arm from my shoulder, shaking something out before leaning me closer, and I hear the tell-tale sound of rings jingling, the sound of a key sliding into a lock and turning it. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” He guides the two of us into the apartment and not for the first time, I am enamored with him, I take in the state of his apartment while I kick my shoes off.

His decor, it’s so comfortable, a beloved sofa pushed close to the corner with the walls lined with shelves holding books and trinkets alike, plants here and there with cat furniture tucked in neatly next to it all. Warm lighting comes from a lamp sitting on top of the fireplace mantle. The AC unit whirs to life and the brush of cold is sent straight past my damp clothing and to my bones. He doesn’t miss the way I shiver and lean closer into him, even with Skrunkly bounding up to the both of us.

I crouch down, cooing towards her with my fingers extended. “How long were you outside?” He asks, a concerned frown tugs at his lips and my hand itches to smooth the tension away, even so close and so far, I want to.

“It wasn’t long.” I say, looking back down to Skrunkly and smiling at her when she scratches her cheek against my fingernails. And he might’ve been convinced if I hadn’t sneezed right then and there.

“You’re getting out of those clothes and you’re showering and-” I try to get a word in but he just squeezes my head, “and then we’ll talk more.” A smile tugs at his face again and it sends my heart into spasms. “Okay?” I whisper it back to him and then he pulls away. Guiding me through his apartment and to his bedroom, and he doesn’t say anything while I look around, fingertips gliding across posters and his bedsheets.

He doesn’t stop me, only moves past me to get to this dresser by the wall, furthest from the door and out of sight from his desk. He digs through them as I move to take my jacket off, the tank underneath doing fuck all for my shoulders and leaving me even colder. When he turns around, his eyes, oh his eyes, fuck they’re even prettier in person— okay, when he turns around, his eyes lock onto the jacket in my hands and the bare skin left behind. 

He clears his throat while I focus on his flustered state, shoving the clothes he’d found into my hands. “Bathroom’s right there, when you’re done, let me know so I can throw your clothes into the wash.” And before he left, he reached between us and squeezed my hand twice, waiting till I squeezed back. His eyes, full of an emotion I can’t tell, scan my face as he walks backwards. And when he bumps into his own door, twice, might I add, I do laugh each time. “Take your time, Angel.” He says quietly and despite his suggestion, all I wanted to do was hurry up. The less time in the shower, the more I had with him.

On the other hand, I’ve been freezing my ass off on his welcome matt… and I have access to everything Micah uses on himself.

The thought of smelling like him, using his stuff and- my breath catches in my throat, I know I saw him pick them out and hand them to me but it just sank in. I’d smell like him, I'd be wearing his clothes, using his shower.

I know I'll fall in love with you, baby

And that's just what I'll do

I already knew I was in trouble when I flew over here in a fit of panic but this is- this is different. In the span of twenty-four hours I have gone through about sixteen stages of grief and he's… okay. He's here, alive and least of all, talking to me. Letting me use his shower . He's easily the best thing that's happened to me. Ever. And I am so far gone on this man, I'm not sure how I'll recover once we talk or once I have to go back home. Painful, I'm sure.

One step at a time.

Peeling the rest of my drenched clothes off, they feel heavy in my hands as I put them to the edge of the counter. In the mirror, I see myself. Naked and shivering. Rocking back and forth on my heels makes the reflection mimic me. I turn around to turn the water on. And of course, the water pressure is to die for. Doesn't even need to wait for it to warm up, the water's already hot.

… how bad would it be if I moved in? Like a stowaway but with no ocean and it's purely for the shower head. No other reason.

I use the water for a while after scrubbing several layers of dirt and sweat and skin off, standing under spray and letting it overwhelm my senses. Put a damper on the loud mind.

Eventually I remember that I was supposed to let him in to take the dirty clothes and at the same time I'm wondering how the hell am I supposed to get his attention, a knock on the door and his voice clear as day.

“Hey, forgot to give me your clothes, you sly dog, you're still in the shower right?” He has shower curtains so it's not like he can see anything… but still .

“Yeah grab them, I'm gonna be a little longer.” I say, reaching up to cover my face. I can feel them burn beneath my fingers as I listen to him open the door, picking up my drenched clothes. I can't breathe properly until he's fully out of the restroom.

I am so fucked.

Coming out of the restroom in his clothes is different. For one, they are definitely baggier, the way this sweater is three sizes too big and these sweatpants fit- after I've had to tie the knot snug around my waist. There's a pair of socks on the bed, inconspicuous and matching the clothes I'm already wearing. I'll take a stab and say he left them for me. Even better if he didn't and weirder if they were meant for himself.

I don't know what to expect for this conversation moving forward, I don't know what he's going to say and I don't know how I'm going to hide this giant heart sewn on my sleeve now. A minute of just standing there does me nothing so I wrench the door open and follow the sounds of TV, tugging at the sleeves over my hands.

He's sitting with his legs thrown over the arm of the couch, torso twisted so that he's still facing the television. Face pinched as he stares the penguins down. They're just waddling.

“Angel's been in there for a while…” I can hear him mumble, I can see him check the time and for some reason he pulls out the camera app and finds me hovering over his shoulder. “HOLY SHIT-!”

I don’t hold back the small snort as he’d fallen off the couch entirely, back and head on the floor with his long, flailing legs staying in the air as he says, smile wide and shaking as he tries to hide his laughter, “you need a bell - you cannot be just wandering the halls like some- some ghost!”

Still giggling, I make my way around the couch as he's getting up and the laughter dies down as I'm standing in front of him. He's so beautiful, the thought comes out of nowhere but not unfounded, his curls frame his face and his smile, oh his smile with his fangs poking through. I can't think straight if I keep looking at him like this.

I'm the first one to look away but his hands come up, his warm touch sliding onto my cheeks as he guides my face to look back at him. My skin warms up underneath him.

“You don't get to fly across the country and then hide from me, angel.” His teasing grin is wider, stretching from ear to ear.

Still, I don't know why but I try to deny it, “not hiding, I have the right to not look at you,” mumbling under my breath as I try, really try, not to fluster too much underneath his stare and touch. His eyes, though, they see a lot and with that brilliant but stupid brain of his, I don't know what he's thinking. Or at least, what he's thinking about me.

“You don't, you signed those away when you scared me off my own furniture .” Grin turns into a smirk, I begin to mirror him. A smile slowly grows on me as my hands wrap around his wrists. Thumbs sweep over his veins and if I press hard enough, I could find out just how hard his heart is beating. (If it's beating faster than mine.)

“Okay,” he sighs, after the third minute of intense eye contact, “I guess you get to sit down.” His hands slide off of my cheek and I miss them instantly, a very real part of me wants to grab them and hold them back to my face but I know there's a conversation to be had. And it probably won't call for tender face-holding, but you never know.

He lets me sit first and I look up, leg tucked underneath my other leg, as he's coming down. The smile isn't totally gone, the leftover mirth still lingering in his face and he's watching me too, eyes scanning my own features. It almost becomes too much.

“I never gave you my address.” He says to start with.

Humming, I respond, “and I never gave you mine.” His lips twitch into a small smile.

“Touché.” And before the silence sinks into the conversation, he starts talking again. “I just- wanted to apologize, I got over-excited and I wanted to know everything about you and- I got ahead of myself.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I felt the exact same way. Wanting to know everything about you, got ahead of myself, I tried to make a joke but it was a terrible one, but again, I want you to know that I really did enjoy every minute we talked, that the conversations we had were- is everything to me. So again, I'm sorry.”

He looks down at our laps and reaches over to mine, and in a very slow motion, lifts my fingers to entangle with his. My skin burns with happiness. I hold tight.

“So, we're okay?” He confirms with a small smile, and I can't help but return it with a smile of my own. I nod. His smile grows again and squeezes my hand. “Then if you want, while our food gets here, we can watch one of those cheesy romance movies you like so much.”

I didn't know he'd ordered but I took my chance to put one on. When In Rome . It's so cheesy, so good. I love re-watching it. And now that I get to watch it with him-

Somehow my legs ended up in his lap with his hands holding them, and my torso twisted just enough so I could still lean into his space without being uncomfortable. I can smell the faint scent of his soap in his skin.

“... are you sniffing me, Angel?” He teases, his voice coming out a tone deeper than I expected.

“... no.” I don't know why I deny it but still, I do. I watch from the corner of my eye as he smiles. To be fair, my nose was touching his shoulder for the briefest moment, touching the tiniest sliver of skin there. He did smell good, so could you blame me?

A knock on the door pulls him away from me and as he's standing up and popping his joints, my stomach releases the loudest… and weirdest growl, so much so, Micah stops moving and turns to look at me. “Go get the food.” I say, pushing on his butt with my foot.

He has that shit-eating grin on his face but he doesn't say anything as he walks in long strides to the door.

I don't pay attention to whatever conversation happens with the delivery driver, watching as the main lead is spinning drunk in the fountain. When it switches to the main romantic interest, the look on his face damn near mirrors Micah's when he's coming back with the bags of food.

He's quiet for a moment until hes sitting down. “Will you pause it real quick?” He asks, in a light tone, which makes me think that something’s up.

I nod anyway, lifting the remote and pausing it as she starts to run from the cops. “What's up?” I ask, reaching to grab the food that he's dishing out. He bites at his lip and then glances toward me. I wonder what he sees. What he feels when he looks at me. It's almost overwhelming.

“How did you get here?” He asks and then goes to explain that yes he knows that I flew and that I had to get a ride from the airport somehow… “but I mean. When do you fly back? Do you need a way to get to the airport, because I can drive you, I don't mind.” And while he's able to look me in the eyes, I have to look away. It feels silly. Stupid, even. I don't know. But telling him that I spent almost all of the money I had on the ticket and then on the ride to get to his complex.

“What is it?” He asks when I don't answer and shifts to face me. His face, one I grew to like so much with smiles always stretching from his cheeks to his eyes, suddenly serious. (I knew he could be serious. Why did he have to point that seriously handsome face at me? With those eyes-) I take in a deep breath. My mind is so jumbled, frazzled definitely, I don't know how to tell him… it's so easy and so hard at the same time. Just tell him you can buy the next ticket in two days. Tell him you put everything on the line for him. Just for a chance.

Except that sounds so weird, so terrible. Who would do that? Stalkers would. Murderers definitely. So how do you tell him something so weird and awful and off-putting---

He reaches over and covers my hand with his, the warmth of it pulling me to the ground. His voice rumbles out in a quiet but soothing purr, “talk to me, Angel.” I turn my hands over to hold his tightly. I try to breathe as evenly as I can before facing him fully.

“I may or… may not have bought a one-way ticket.”

His face changed immediately.

“And it's not on purpose! Or, it's not on purpose for a weird reason. I just-” I'm trying not to cry, I'm really trying not to cry. I really put it all on the line and hoped that he would listen to me and would be kind enough to let me in- I really just-

He squeezes my hand and I squeeze back twice as hard as I fight through tears as quietly as I can. With tiny sniffles. Fuck.

“I get paid in two days and I figured I could just buy the ticket for home then. I didn't really… think this through, to be honest.”

“Angel.” He stops me and the tiny smile he has, albeit worried, is so beautiful. So gentle. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” I didn't know how to answer. No that's a lie, I know the answer. I don't want to, is more specific. I don't want to tell him that I had no plan, no backup, nothing. Just everything to my name in the form of a ticket and hope.

With every second that passes, it becomes glaringly obvious what my answer is.

And with a quiet murmur of my name, not just his nickname for me but my name, he pulls my hands into his again. Stroking the back of my knuckles with his thumbs. “I promise I won't be mad or freak out on you. I just need to know.”

“... I don't.” I bite down on my lip, hard. Maybe hard enough that I taste iron. “I only had enough for the plane ticket and the drive over here.”

He's not mad, if anything, he's got several other emotions flashing across his face but it settles on a passive happiness. He takes a bite of his burger and makes a gesture for me to start eating too. I'm half tempted to throw it at him, just to see what he'd do. “So let me get this straight. You spent pretty much everything you had and then whatever was left you got a ride here, is that right?” He asks, chewing in between words and I nod. “All because you wanted to apologize?” I nod again. He doesn't say anything else until after we're done eating.

“Okay, let's say you had money. When would you want to leave?” It's too much to say never so soon, but, then again.

“Probably tomorrow or the day after, and like I said I do get paid in two days.” He nods serenely.

“I could buy the ticket for you. If you wanted, you could leave tomorrow.”

I frown, “I can't ask you to do that.”

“Well why not, I want to help, it's the least I could do.”

“But-”

He shakes his head, unwilling to listen anymore. Covering his ears with his palms and blabbering any nonsense that comes out.

The urge to kick him again is strong. I wonder if he feels it because he stops almost immediately as I start to pick up my leg. He catches it with one of his… nice, big hands, pulling both of my legs into his lap again.

He starts the movie up again, thumb skimming over some exposed skin by my ankles. Every now and then, I risk a glance at him and he's looking right back at me. That easy grin back on his face and I have to look away for my sanity. When the movie is over, Micah picks the trash up, throwing it away in the kitchen. I try to turn my phone on again but alas, it's dead, checks out.

“Need a charger?” Micah says, palm facing upwards with a charger in the middle of it. So while I plug it in, he puts on another movie. I don't recognize it but he's not very helpful either, claiming something about how the reviews say it's good. I don't believe a word.

In the span of two hours, he ended up in my arms, cheek pressed against my shoulder and his arms wrapped around my torso. My own arms draped over his shoulders. Our legs were entangled.

There's a pit in my stomach, one that's begging me to push him away, to crawl away from this apartment despite clawing my way towards him. It's the same pit that makes it hard to tell him three words. It would ring true, I think it would ring true… I just…

“Are you okay, muffin cakes?” He mumbles into my shoulder, eyes blinking wearily at the TV and then to me. His smile grows one-sided, his teeth shining against the light of the movie. “I'll pick something else out if you don't like it.”

“Mmh.” I hum into the air, not quite looking at him but holding tight to his shoulders.

“Angel.” He says but I'm not really listening, trying to focus on anything but the urge inside, a hunger to peel my skin back and scrape the insides out. I don't want to be touched right now but pushing Micah away right after I practically threw myself at him is out of the question. I can't focus on anything. I can barely feel the way Micah stands up, leaning over me. “Angel,” he starts to speak as I startle, looking at his looming figure and before I can recognize what I'm doing, I'm standing and rushing to the restroom.

“Just a-,” I gasp for air, my throat closing up as my knees buckled, sliding my back against the door, “-just a stomachache, I swear.” I try, I really do try to cover my tracks even when it's obvious to me that I'm panicking. That I'm running away.