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Sam’s head flicked up at the sound of bikes rumbling through his open window. His limbs felt heavy and his eyes bleary, his mind too slow to read or do anything else productive with all this time he’s spending awake. He went his whole life sleeping away from Michael, tucked away in his own room where if his brother wasn’t down the hall, in his own bed, he’d be none the wiser. But now, if Michael wasn’t there, breathing next to him, he could only lay there and count the hours until he got home.
The bikes sputtered, then came to a stop. Sam sighed. Michael would be up the stairs any minute now and finally, he’d be able to close his eyes and get at least an hour or two of rest. But one minute passed, then other, then five more. And still. No Michael.
He huffed, crawling out of his bed and over Michael’s, to peer out the window. He’s come to recognize his brother’s new friends, each of them various levels of scary with different combinations of leather, bleach and spikes. He caught a flash of blond hair twinged with pink by the sky, the singer, his mind helpfully supplied.
Sam frowned. They leaned against the bike, standing so close their arms pressed together. Michael had his head tucked next to the guy’s ear, like he was whispering something. Then he dropped it down further to his neck, tucking it near his shoulder. The blond guy’s hand gripped at his jacket. A pang of anxiety ran through Sam’s chest at the sight. At how long Michael stayed there. He rubbed his eyes, then blinked, catching a glimpse of Michael pulling away. His eyes came back into focus just as he grabbed Michael by the collar and tugged their faces together.
Sam choked on a gasp, slapping one hand over his mouth and the other down on the windowsill. He watched, eyes wide and chest heaving with heavy breaths. They shifted into the light, illuminated enough Sam could see their mouths resting over each other’s. Not kissing, just breathing. Mike’s eyes were closed, the guy’s were fixed on his face.
Sam considered how Mike definitely wouldn’t want him to see this, whatever this was. But before he could find the sense to look away, the guy kissed him. He pulled away quickly, leaving Michael with his hand outstretched in the same spot it was when it rested on the guy’s cheek a moment earlier. He stood there for a moment, then finally headed for the door.
Sam dove back into his own bed, scrambling to get under his covers. He knew he had at least a minute before Michael would get to their room, but the situation felt like it called for some urgency. He tugged a blanket up to his shoulders and turned towards the window just as the door swung open.
Michael didn’t bother being quiet coming home anymore. He let the hinges creak and the knob bounce off the wall. One thud, then another, echoed through the room when he kicked off his boots. The buttons on his coat clinked against the floor as he dropped off his coat before finally, landing face down in his bed with a huff, the mattress squeaking underneath him.
Hidden under his covers, Sam pressed his hand to his chest, rubbing circles, trying to soothe the ache that had settled there. It burned, like fire spreading from his heart, up his throat and into his jaw. He frowned, then did a mental scan of his shoulder, checking for signs of a heart attack.
He squeezed his eyes shut, hearing Michael shifting on his sheets. His breathing was too heavy, too fast. The first line of sunlight threatened to shine through the curtains as it cast a thin white line on the ceiling. Outside, seagulls cried, early birds started their cars and waves crashed in the morning breeze. But inside, the silence in the bedroom was so thick Sam felt like it was about to suffocate him.
“Mike?” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Michael?”
“What?” Michael asked with a muffled groan.
Sam’s mouth opened, then closed again. It occurred to him he didn’t really know what he was going to say before he started. He still had no idea. Every word sank back down into his chest like a stone. Images of Michael through the window replayed in his mind, every question he had coming at him all at once and threatening to spill out along with the waves of nausea crashing in his stomach.
“Nothing. Never mind.” He said. Michael grunted, turning on his side and exposing a bruise on his neck, small and placed just under his jaw. Cold sweat dripped down Sam’s back. He stared up at the ceiling, the steak of white turning a more golden colour and starting to widen. He mulled over the word in his mind, gay. He tried testing it out on his tongue, it felt sharp, sending a violating stab down his throat. He tried putting the words are and you in front of it. That was worse.
Michael shifted again and a gleam of light hit Sam directly in the eye. He scrubbed at his face, confused, until he remembered Michael’s earring. He huffed. Ever since Michael got it their first night in town, it lingered in Sam’s mind. It felt oppressive, the tiny piece of jewelry, always dancing when Michael moved and shining in the light, screaming look at me!
He heard Michael’s breathing start to even out. Across the hall, his mom shifted in her sheets, the day would start soon, and Michael would be holed up here, while Sam was forced to go about things like nothing even happened. He knew he needed to act now, spit it out and get Michael talking before it was too late.
“Mike?” He tried again. Michael hummed, softer, dulled by sleep. Sam swallowed, horrified at how loud the sound was in the silent room. His fingers twisted around his blanket, tugging so hard he felt the fabric stretch.
“Are you…” He started, his throat hurt as he pushed to get the words out. “Are you gay?” He asked, barely squeezed out in a whisper. The question landed with a thud. Michael’s breathing stilled. Sam heard his heart pounding between his ears. He counted three beats, then five, then lost track. Michael shifted, the springs of the mattress groaning underneath him.
Michael didn’t say anything for a while, the silence stretched for so long Sam thought maybe he didn’t hear him, and he could just pretend this never happened.
“No.” He huffed, burying his face in the pillow. Sam bit his lip, he kicked his blanket off one leg, suddenly feeling unbearably hot. He watched specs of dust float into the sunlight. Michael said he isn’t gay, so that must be that. Sam frowned a little, considering that maybe guys kissing other guys is just what they do in California, gay or not. The thought made his face flush.
“But.” He started, searching again for the right words. “I-I saw you. Outside. Withtheguyfromtheband” Sam said, stumbling. Michael’s mattress creaked again, he squeezed his eyes shut so tight he saw colours. His brother cursed under his breath.
“Don’t worry about it.” Michael said, the heaviness of sleep completely gone from his voice. Sam cringed.
“I’m not worried about it.” He said, too high and too fast.
“Then drop it.” Michael clipped. Sam wanted to say something else, but every possible word felt like dropping a match into a puddle of gasoline. He pressed his hands flat against his chest, his heart was still going too fast. He wasn’t sure why. He felt something wet drip into his hairline. Hot tears springing from the corners of his eyes.
He stared at the back of Mike’s head. At the earring, at his hair grown out longer than he’s ever had it before. At the bruise on his neck.
fuck you. Sam thought. It surprised him, he wasn’t sure who he was so angry with. Michael, maybe. Maybe the guy on the bike, or maybe himself for crying like a little kid. He fought to slow his breathing, desperate to hide the wet hitch in his chest from Michael. He heard the shift of his mom’s slippers on the wood floor, the rustle of her robe against the stairs. Soon he’d have to go down for breakfast, his eyes all red and puffy, and pretend slept fine and there was absolutely nothing wrong and his entire world didn’t just turn upside down.
“You kissed a guy.” He said, the words tore out of him, catching on the thickness in his throat on the way out.
“Its not what it looks like,” Michael started. Sam sat up in bed, his pillow falling to the floor with the impact. Tears streamed down his face now; he didn’t bother hiding them. He was so completely over Michael insisting things weren’t what they looked like. The hole in his ear with metal through it wasn’t an earring. Coming home at six in the morning smelling like pot wasn’t what it looked like. And now, kissing a guy wasn’t what it looked like, why would it be?
“Oh really? Because it looks pretty freaking gay to me, Mike.” Sam snarled in a whisper. His chest heaved, rising and falling quick enough it made his back hurt. Michael stilled next to him. So still that for a moment Sam thought he might’ve killed him with words alone. He wished he could gather them out of the atmosphere and shove them back in his mouth.
“Mike, I-” He started, trying to form an apology.
“So what if I did?” He asked. His muscles were tensed under his t-shirt. Sam’s breath hitched, his lip started to wobble as he started to shake his head. That wasn’t what Michael was supposed to say. Sam had prepared for another round of denial, more insistence that he go back to sleep, he was ready to storm out of the room and join mom in the kitchen. Not this. Not Mike just… admitting it.
Michael flipped onto his back, starring up at the ceiling. The entire room was lit yellow now. The bruise on his neck had darkened, and now Sam could see a smattering of lighter red marks around it. He looked closely at his face, eyes forward, jaw tense, he looked like he was waiting for a blow to the nose, Sam realized with a sickening twist in his gut.
“I don’t-” Sam’s voice broke completely. “I don’t care. I don’t care if you did.” He said.
Michael’s jaw unclenched just a little, he turned his head just enough to see Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam swiped across his eye with the heel of his hand, smearing the tears across his face more than wiping them up. He really tried to mean it. He wanted to mean it. He was desperate to not care. The tears kept coming regardless, like he was a pipe with a leak and couldn’t find the source. He grabbed the blanket off his lap and pulled it around his shoulders. Too warm under the light of the sun. but he couldn’t bear being anymore exposed.
“Okay.” Michael said. He rolled away from Sam, his shoulders still drawn up to his ears. Sunlight began to stretch up his bed, like it was trying to drag him out by the ankles. Sam grabbed his pillow from the floor and hugged it to his chest.
Questions swirled around Sam’s head; he didn’t want to ask. The thought of asking each of them felt like sticking his hand down a garbage disposal. But not knowing was worse. Not knowing felt like a knife twisting in his heart. His head started to hurt from all the crying. His pillow was damp where held it tucked under his chin.
He looked over at Michael, he was curled in on himself, the line of his spin visible through his shirt. Sam wondered when he missed all the baby fat melting off. Sometimes Sam felt like he was sharing a room with a stranger, but right now, the old Michael shined through. Something small and scared, so unlike the guy who stomped through the house in the early hours of the morning, not caring who heard.
“Have you kissed other guys?” He asked. The words sounded rehearsed, because they were. He mulled over them, wondering how to formulate them so they sounded like a question and not an accusation. Michael tensed again, a clear sign Sam had failed that particular mission.
“No.”
Sam nodded. Just one guy made it worse somehow. A string of nameless faces could be explained away by experimentation, something he’d theoretically understand when he’s older. But one guy, that was specific. One guy meant one guy on purpose.
“Is he your…boyfriend?” The word sounded weird, almost like it wasn’t even a real one.
“No.” Michael said again, only this time it was accompanied by something that was almost a laugh. A huff out of his nose. Small, but it broke through the pounding in Sam’s temples and released some of the tension that had been suffocating the room. Sam laughed a little too. Boyfriend like Michael was walking around holding some guy’s hand, sharing a bucked of popcorn at the movies, going on dates.
“We’re just messing around” Michael offered, like that explained everything. “It’s nothing.”
Nothing. Sam didn’t know a guy kissing another guy could be nothing. He sensed the implication running under it. Temporary. It was nothing, so it would end eventually. And then Michael would be back to normal. Coming home at normal hours and sleeping in his bed like a regular person. They could go back to fighting over the TV remote and the last pop-tart. And that was good, it meant Sam could lock everything about this night away in a drawer and never think about it ever again.
But, the things he saw that morning couldn’t be explained by nothing. There were only a few explanations, none of which felt good or easy. He picked at a loose thread on his pillow, winding it around his finger.
“But you’re not. I mean. You’re still into girls, right?” He clung onto the thought, that this guy he was kissing was just like all the new clothes in Michael’s half of the dresser; darker, tighter, spiker, something their mom called a phase. And he’d grow out of it and marry a nice lady and settle down and forget all about it and this conversation to.
“I think so.” Michael said. Sam felt like he might as well have pulled out a gun and shot him. His hands clenched into fists, fighting the urge to grab his brother by the shoulders and demand a straight answer, no pun intended..
Silence stretched between them. Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again, completely out of things to say. He watched the room turn gold, the sun fully pushing over the horizon and through their window. Michael’s breathing evened out again, Sam knew he wasn’t asleep, just done. Done talking. Done thinking for a little while. Sam envied him, longing for any amount of time without a couple dozen thoughts all going all at once. Being able to leave something unresolved, something as big as this.
He sat there, still hugging his pillow and counting down the seconds until mom called for him. When she asked him what time Mike got home that night, he’ll tell her he doesn’t know. He was asleep.