Work Text:
Jane sits in a cab with her laptop on, glancing at the sunset painting the sky. Her head’s been mentally drained the past few days, despite everything good happening to her. Still, there seemed to be a missing piece she’s yet to find. Guilt has been catching up to her, and fast. From seeing her estranged father, giving potentially reckless advice to her companions, and all while using them for her story. Sometimes at exhaustion, other times it gnaws on her when there’s nothing on her head.
She turns back at the blinking text cursor on her screen. Her phone vibrates and shows a few texts from both men. Attempting to brush off those thoughts, Jane decides to read Michael’s notification first since it was the earlier one.
Michael: Work here’s almost done. Just come to the hospital at ten.
Michael: We can go to Royal Street if you wish.
Jane: I’m on my way to the Cradle. I don't need the ride anymore.
Jane: Thanks for the offer, though :)
Jane notices him reading the message almost instantly. She sees him typing a response. It goes on for a long time, not before a simple two-letter word comes on the screen.
Michael: Ok.
That’s it? Very generous of him. She checks what Thomas texted, and she is relieved to see he sent it no longer than ten minutes ago.
Thomas: The event’s all done, Jane. I tried to excuse myself. Should we meet up somewhere? French Quarter? Royal Street?
Jane feels bad leaving him to his own devices, but that’s when she formulates something. Her lips curl into a smile, and she hastily texts the man.
Jane: I’m already on my way to the Waves’ Cradle.
Jane: Actually, either Li or Michael’s gonna be at the Royal Street. You might see them ;)
She puts her phone aside, seeing that Thomas isn’t active at the moment.
Jane notices the hostility in their stares. Jane notices the annoyance of the tone whenever Thomas and Michael have a conversation with each other. She observes how Thomas only listens to the other man out of manners rather than curiosity.
She observes how Michael always asks the brunette man last whenever he goes to the city or needs additional insight, and how his sense of communication goes dry in the other’s presence.
Despite it all, she knows there’s empathy. She knows there’s a deep layer of care between them. An untouched level of closeness that these two can achieve. The only thing Jane can think of is how she can get them closer. She’s not using this to her advantage for manuscript inspiration, not anymore. Part of her intuition knows there’s something beyond that.
No amount of distance can ever explain the glances they have for each other.
She looks by the window, letting all her feelings take over her. Seconds before she closes her eyes. Seconds before she deeply inhales. Seconds before regret creeps in.
As the sunset starts to fade into deep blues, Thomas walks into a lively bar on Royal Street. He doesn’t feel like partying the night away, but he feels too sluggish to walk somewhere else. The people dancing and the rough gibberish out of their mouths didn’t boost his mood, not much yet at least. He knows better than to drink irresponsibly. He watched his friend Isaac get buried days ago, and he can’t afford to lose himself, too. He only watched the funeral from a distance, not wanting to disturb the family’s peace. He didn’t want to force something that wouldn’t be worth it.
He knows better. Or maybe he thinks he knows better.
“I’ll get a Sazerac and some water,” Thomas put out some cash, which the bartender swiftly took and started making his drink.
The man exasperatedly sighs, looking around the room. His rough fingers tapping the wooden surface, his brown eyes begin to blur. His other hand wrinkles his forest green jacket that Isaac gave to him years ago.
He replies to Jane’s text a while ago, about how she’s back in the Cradle. Putting a smiley face at the end of his message even when he doesn’t mean it.
He barely knows her but he’s at ease with her. He knows she won’t build an emotional wall as soon as he’s expressing his problems. She won’t put him down harshly and avoid a comforting touch. She won’t freeze up and try to push him away when he needs to cry. She won’t run away and leave him behind.
Jane would ease his grief and not let him go callous. Jane, Li, Jeanne… anyone. Anyone but Michael. A smart man, a cold one. A man full of brains with only half a heart.
He couldn’t believe that the Cradle was where he’d see him after all those years. Where their paths collide once more. Twelve years have passed since he cried in Michael’s arms. It was a haven for a short time. Eventually, Thomas cried to him for the last time when Michael pulled away from his arms.
He heard the clinking of two glasses as the bartender set down his drinks. Thomas takes a sip of the strong cocktail as his jaw clenches, his head hanging low. He attempts to wipe the water in his eyes, thinking of that moment. At the same moment, a deep yet familiar voice clears his throat.
“Is this seat taken?”
Standing behind him, none other than Michael. Thomas rolls his eyes and shakes his head, gesturing to the seat on his right, “Go on.”
It didn’t take long for the room to feel suddenly heavy, tense, so… straining. Michael pays the waiter to get a glass of something. Thomas didn’t care what he got, it didn’t matter to him. He takes a swig of his drink, and the bitterness and spice override the sweetness in his whiskey. He refuses to look at the other man’s direction, and Michael seems to know that too. There’s still a sting in their hearts that neither party wants to bring up.
“Something wrong? You’re sulking,” Michael asks. Maybe in concern, maybe for the silence to be gone. He bites the inside of his mouth, not saying anything else. He could see Thomas mumbling in annoyance, but he couldn’t hear through the blasting music. Michael isn’t sure if he even wants to hear it. Thomas didn’t answer his question.
“Did Jane tell you I was here?”
Michael nods, “Said we can go home together. It’s only you and me who’s still in the city.”
There was a certain glint in Michael’s eyes. It couldn’t be a simple stare, no. He wanted to hold his hand out to someone he regrettably let go of. Instead, his hands could only hold around a cold glass of water. The icy liquid does nothing to hold back the memories he stored of the soldier.
“Are you going to continue looking at me like that?”
Michael’s mind comes back to the current situation, with Thomas' eyes narrowing and brows furrowing, “I was only looking when you were talking. You’re thinking too much.”
Thinking too much… What can be too much or too little? He can’t hold the regret he has when those words spill out of his mouth. Thomas looks at the people behind Michael, singing and dancing their hearts out. Anything to stop the tear that flows down his eyes, but that fails. One single tear makes its way down his cheek, and he doesn’t even wipe it off.
“Why are you here anyway? Want to talk about it?” Michael asked stoically.
There was simply a part of Michael that wanted to be heard again. To be thought of as someone good again. He wants to make up for everything he's done. The problem was he was too stubborn. All that working and learning hadn’t given him vulnerability.
“My friend passed away a few days ago. I’m having a hard time moving on.”
The soldier falters, his voice lowering on the last few words. He looks down at Michael’s legs, doing nothing to stop the few tears streaming down his face.
“I’m sorry about that,” Michael continues after an awkward pause, “You can call me if you need help with it.”
Michael suddenly touches his lips, letting the call to action slip out from his lips before he could even process what he said. He drinks his water, frantically needing a way out. But he knows he needs to take Thomas home. There’s something in him that can’t leave the other alone. There’s a part of Michael that still wishes to look out for him. He still needs him.
But there’s nothing. Neither of them says a word after Michael’s words of comfort, and that feels generous of a term. It’s only filled by the blasting party music and the inaudible shouts of the others. Thomas continues drinking without looking in Michael’s direction. Michael still wants to help despite all the barriers they’ve built on each other, or rather, the barriers he built.
“I know I left things weird with what I said-”
He freezes mid-sentence, quickly sealing his lips. He doesn’t want to finish the sentence, and he prays Thomas picked up on his words before they could ever be uttered.
How can it ever work that way? He can’t say he wants Thomas back. The sting returns recurrently to remind him of his mistake, breaking up with him out of nowhere, so what’s the use of saying it at all? They had to end it; things couldn’t work out in their favor. Even if it did, there had to be a point where they couldn’t stand each other anymore.
“It’s been almost twelve years, Michael. We weren’t the same people then.”
But they’re not so different now. Especially when it feels like time never passed, especially when his soul still calls for Michael’s name. Especially when the thick silence speaks heavier than any word they’ll ever say.
Michael scoots his stool slightly closer to Thomas, trying to make it unnoticeable to him. He moves his glass closer to the special cocktail glass Thomas has. He attempts to put his hand over Thomas for affirmation, but the soldier quickly pulls away. He sits still in his tracks wondering for his next move, when the hand that he pulled away from the table now hesitantly rests on Michael’s shoulders. His body finally turns in the doctor’s direction, his touch only light. As if he’s ready to let go any second.
But Michael wastes no time gently wiping the tears with his rough fingers, the left hand tightly interlocking with Thomas’ hand. He lets Thomas bury his head on Michael’s shoulder. To make it easier to comfort him. Or maybe he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing him cry.
The club noises fade as Michael listens to the soldier’s weeps, his right hand brushes Thomas’ hair while his left travels to his back. Gently caressing him so that he doesn’t tense up.
“What am I supposed to do when the person who’s already gone continues to haunt me? It feels like their eyes are on me at every move.”
Thomas says with long pauses each word. He forcefully closes his eyes and looks away from the crowd, further staining Michael’s blue turtleneck that he put on last minute. Michael didn’t want to say anything else. He knows Thomas was referring to Isaac.
But he couldn’t help but think that it might be for him too.
He can only think… “ Don’t stray away. Don’t leave now. ”
Thomas words it into existence. Even with the muffles and his tears, Michael can hear every word. His fingers run through the soldier’s hair, and he glances down at the tear-eyed man.
“Thomas, don’t… say those things.”
It was only faint, said with a touch of guilt. A speckle of sadness. Nothing else follows.
He didn’t want Thomas to see him as a stranger, not for long. A stranger who recognizes his voice, who remembers the notes of the doctor’s perfume, who listens to every hum that follows the strum of his guitar. He didn’t want Thomas to be a stranger who could only murmur his name while crying in his arms.
Because they’re no longer strangers, not in Michael’s eyes.
They’ve already tried this once. Would it hurt to reach out and try again?
“You’re right. It was all stupid. We should go home,” Thomas immediately pulls out of his embrace and drinks the rest of his Sazerac. Standing and wiping his puffy eyes.
“Thomas.” He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t look. By now, the bar has become more crowded and upbeat.
Michael stops Thomas with a tight grip on his wrist before he can take another step. He stands so the other has to look at him, “Thomas,” Michael calls out again. This time, he’s the one who steps closer to the slightly taller man.
“Don’t be scared of me. I know what I did wrong before, but… please let me help you this time.”
It sounds like a plea. Michael doesn’t want to admit there is a hint of despair in his tone, but it certainly feels like it. He plasters a sad smile to mask the fact he has no idea how to proceed. The doctor’s eyes fill with turmoil, an unsettling dim he rarely encounters. But he truly wants another chance. He wants to fix his mistake.
He won’t recoil anymore. He won’t run or leave Thomas crying anymore. He won’t leave him mixed signals and make him settle for less, no matter how Thomas sees him now.
“I might just know how to help you out.” Michael quickly added, “But you’re right. We should go home.” He hesitantly loses grip of Thomas’ wrist and follows him to the exit. Thomas swears Michael put on a smile, looking at Thomas like he was the warmth he needed on a winter’s day. That same dreamy look he remembered seeing years ago when they were in college. But when he looks back at Michael, nothing. It’s his usual stone-cold expression, just with a reddened face.
Michael knows he needs to fix his wrongs. Thomas knows he’ll need to fix his too. Maybe now, they’ll be able to start anew. They can finally go back home together.
Sleep peacefully knowing the fact that there is a portion of them that has made amends. That part of their heart and mind can heal a little better.
But they both know Jane has some explaining to do.