Chapter Text
He's warm. No, not just warm, he's hot. Like, burning fever hot, like leather car interior left in the sun with the windows open hot.
He's so hot, I think if I could see his skin from here, my head perched on his shoulder how it is now, the length of his neck hidden behind his head of long, black hair, it'd have to be comedically red. Or maybe cartoonishly red.
But, I'm not really thinking about that. Well, I am, but I'm not really, really thinking about it. Instead, I'm thinking, 'Mike, what did you do to yourself that you're letting me hug you, and you're hugging me back?'. In a funny way, but also entirely in a serious one, too.
I have no idea how I find myself here, in his arms, but I can tell immediately that it's wrong, that it feels so much not like Mike I have no idea how I can tell it's him, I just know it is.
Mike isn't an affectionate guy, and for the record, I'm not either, I'm just not totally averse to it like he is. We've never hugged one another, the most we've done is one of those bro handshakes, and those end right at the hand, not even the pulling one another in thing for a half hug. Hugs are for your girlfriend, for your little sibling, for your grandparents, that kind of thing.
But, I hug Mike then without thinking about it, because you probably would too if you saw your best friend in a hospital bed, even if you've never hugged him before. And I've got it extra bad, because, I haven't seen Mike in months. I can't remember why now, but I have this tragic feeling in my head and my chest that I've really been missing him, that I thought I'd never see him again.
I hug him extra hard for that, though, somehow it doesn't feel even half as strong as how Mike holds me in return. His arms are right across my back, I can feel his fingers digging in past my jacket and my shirt. He's holding me like he doesn't want me to go, and I don't even think about wanting to. Not just because I miss him, but also because I'm crying. Even though I don't want to cry and I feel embarrassed crying because Mike never cried, he never even got sad, he was always moving full speed ahead and believing he could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.
My cries are silent, but I feel like somehow he must know that I'm crying. Maybe that's why he's holding me like this, to help preserve my dignity or something. Maybe he's even crying, too, because somehow, in the grandscheme of all the things Mike has worth much more than me, maybe me being here means something, maybe my hug is what he needs.
It's hard to believe, since he's such an important guy, the type that will do something out there in the world, 'cause life's set him up for it, while I'm the sidekick, or maybe the childhood friend, if we'd known one another long enough, the type you leave behind for a long time then look up on Facebook and just feel pity for what a freak they've become.
None of that really matters, though. Who cares right now who we're going to be or where we'll end up in five years. I'm just so relieved for this moment, I thank God, though I haven't talked to Him in a long time. Then I pray Mike will keep holding onto me a little longer, so I can have an excuse to not let him go just yet.
There's so much lost time to make up for, so many things I never told him, so many things I never did, so many things I never showed. I feel a sense of dread in imagining I can't fulfill those now, that there isn't enough time, that he isn't close enough, somehow, that I'm too late.
Then, of course, I wake up.
My dad's in my room, he's calling my name, though I only seem to catch the end of it, my head still full of sleep, a big part not even wanting to be awake just yet, it feels cruel for something so real to be just a dream. But, I should have known better. I'd forgotten then, in sweet dream land, but it's easy, so easy I wish it wasn't to remember that Mike is dead, so any memory of hugging him in the hospital, when I hadn't even known he was in there when he was, would have to be fake.
I don't really wake up until my dad stops calling my name. My eyes are open, but they're taking a while to adjust to the dark, it must still be an hour or two before I have to get ready for school, the sky is still navy blue through the window, the only light is what I can see shining in behind my dad from the dining room down the hall.
"Huh?" Is what I say when he speaks again, still only catching on to the end of his sentence, but this one I want to hear fully, even though I'm mostly sure what I heard.
"Your friend, they said he didn't make it through the night."
He doesn't say Mike, I don't think he even knows that's his name to be able to call him by it, but my mind automatically goes there. Mike is my only friend who's ever died, I can't imagine it being anyone else at any other time, though I'm sure it'll happen again some day, when I'm old and grey, if I get to be old and grey.
But, Mike died months ago, it might've been a year by now. It can't be him, but it must be, I don't have any other friends.
I go to school a couple hours later, feeling awful odd. I'm not sure what's going on or who to expect to be missing. As soon as homerooms finished, though, Ashers at my desk before I can even gather my things, asking about Mike.
"Have you heard anything about Mike yet?"
"Why would I?" Is how I respond, because what is there to hear even?
My voice trembles somewhat under the intensity of his gaze following the question, despite that, though. The answer seems to matter to him a lot, and I don't like being the guy who doesn't have what he's looking for when he's looking for it. Asher wasn't as hardcore as Mike was, but he was still a football player, and he looked like one, too. I hadn't seen him get mad, but any guy who chooses to be alone when girls chase him is a man I can't believe doesn't have some kind of pent-up rage.
"You saw him yesterday, how was he? Don't play dumb."
"I don't know, he was fine. I didn't get to ask him how he felt." I shrug my shoulders and shove my hands into the pockets of my slacks, I can feel my palms moistening by the second under the pressure.
He scoffs and walks off, I watch his back every step as I think back to what my dad said that morning, to the feeling in the pit of my stomach lingering now that I know as familiar, that feeling of knowing something when it hasn't really hit you yet, coming to terms the second time that Mike is dead, not knowing now which version is the real one, which one is the cruel dream versus the cruel reality.
Asher deserves to know, though. If I deserved to know, he deserved to know. He was Mike’s friend, too. I promised myself I'd be better if I got the chance to be, that includes a better friend, even if to someone else's friend.
"Wait, man, wait." I call, doing a short jog then to catch up with him across the cafeteria. He turns back to look at me and I can see the 'what' on his lips, but I cut him off before he can voice it.
"I should have told you the first time, Mike.. My dad told me this morning he didn't make it."
I clutch his shoulder and look him in the eye when I say it, even though I don't want to. I really don't like seeing how his eyes are looking at me but don't seem to see me, and how he stills completely without a breath taken, and sweat drips down his forehead, cold, and anxious. I know what that's like, but I know better what it's like to not feel that when you should because someone else decided you shouldn't get to know.
"I got to go."
Is all he says to me before he's moving off into his own jog past me. The view of his back gets further and further away before it disappears completely. And my mind keeps screaming at me to tell him, it's not his fault, though I don't ever manage it.
I don't see him again the rest of the school day.