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The room is quiet when they sit down. Jeremy fiddles awkwardly with his cardigan sleeves across the dining table, a bowl of oranges set between them. His Ina had taken one look at the two of them and declared they needed to talk, leaving the fruits there before leaving for work.
Michael inhaled, soft citrus filled his lungs, something bitter and tangy. Jeremy swallowed nervously, he was pulling at the fabric like he’d never worn a cardigan before. Like it wasn’t a constant in his wardrobe before it all. Like he had forgotten what it felt like. Maybe he had, it had been a few months after all.
“So” Michael says, his throat catches on the word, voice scratchy. He coughs. Jeremy looks up, azure eyes clouded with doubt. A hint of fear. “So” he repeats.
“We should talk” Jeremy says finally, the first words he’s spoken in forever. The room seems to lighten with it, the air itself stilling in relief, committing his voice to memory after its long absence. Michael tries not to let it sway him.
“We should,” he agrees. Hesitantly, he reaches for an orange. It’s heavy in his hands, his mama always makes sure to get the sweet ones. His nails press into the skin, tearing it apart viciously. The smell of citrus gets stronger “You left me,” he accuses.
Jeremy sighs, the torn peel hits the tabletop. “I did,” he agrees. Bitterness fills the air, all citrus and sour fragrance.
“Why?” Michael asks finally, resentment and guilt and anger boil over through his words “Was I not enough?” he spits out. Juice pours over his fingers, dipping into his palms and soaking through his sleeve.
“No” Jeremy answers, voice weak “You weren’t”. More of the peel is taken away, revealing the soft, vulnerable flesh.
“But that’s not your fault” he continues. There is an edge to his tone now, a glint of steel, a flicker of protectiveness, a hint of love. Michael catches the juice in his fingertips, sticking it in his mouth before it falls again.
“Is it your fault, then?” he asks “Did you do it on purpose?”.
Jeremy winces, hands returning to plucking at his sleeves “I don’t know” he says honestly “But I didn’t do it because of you”.
Michael nods, the peel falls off with a particularly dexterous pull. “Okay” he responds. The orange sits innocently in his hands, exposed for all to see. He breaks it apart, clutching one half close to his chest. He extends his arm across the table, the other half exposed in offering.
Jeremy smiles softly, sadly, like he's forgotten how. “Thank you” he says, and accepts the olive branch.
The orange is sweet.