Coffee, Grit, and my Dad's Best Shoes 2.3

I promise that the hospital drabble is over by the middle of chapter three ohmygosh. One more scene of it after this one!

Wednesday came around far too quickly. It marked a week since Parker's first visit, and the end of Michael's stay, and two days since they took the tubes out of my nose. All pivotal moments, and some brought far more positive emotion than others.

Michael's flight was at five, and the green-eyed nurse (whose name was Lauren, I found out later that day) let him in early, claiming that she sympathized with his cause and that she'd probably lose her job if we told anyone. We promised not to, and she was gone with a wave and a smile that almost knocked me over.

Michael ruffled my hair, folding himself into the favourite purple chair, and muttered, "You're so pan, Braz. It's rude to stare at nurses' asses like that."

I blinked a few times, shrinking into the sheets as best I could. "In my defence, she's really, really quite attractive."

Michael's eyebrows pinched. "Even in gross nurse scrubs? I mean, I'll hand it to her, that shade of purple brings out her eyes, but the gaudy flowers? Turn-off."

"I like gaudy flowers," I said under my breath, and he started laughing. I didn't understand what was that funny. I didn't ask either, because I knew that he'd say it was black humour when, in reality, it was really just Michael humour, which nobody understood, nor did we dare venture to try.

"Okay, but seriously." He sat up suddenly and cleared his throat, leaning over in his chair. I met his gaze, almost dropping it again for how intense it was. "We're going to have to discuss your boy problems before I go home. And, unless it triggers, like, panic attacks or a legit PTSD episode or something, you're not getting out of it." I blinked at him. "I trust you not to fake, either."

Suddenly, I had a sinking feeling that part of his willingness to forgive Parker was secretly him being excited he had a love life to squeal about. He hated drama, and he hated it with a passion that you could almost taste, it would get so thick in the air, but he Loved-with-a-capital-L squawking about happy affairs. Boy 'trouble' (or girl trouble, or any other form of human-and-romance-related trouble) was slotted under his Happy Affairs category.

I watched him for a few more seconds, and then sighed my heartfelt surrender. "It won't. Also, I'm not sure if I qualify them as boy 'problems' or not yet, so careful with the phrasing. And I'm not- jeez, Michael, don't look at me like that." It was a glare that made his brow wrinkle, but also a smirk that brought out the dimples he took so much pride in. Truly an expression that he and he alone could make work.

"You are. Shut up, right now, because you are."

I scowled at him. "You don't even know what I was going to say." He did. He definitely knew what I'd been about to say. So I looked away, deciding to stare at the wall until I was positive that I could make out the little divots in the drywall through the paint. "I'm not going to jump on it."

A laugh, and a, "On what? His bones? Because I kind of didn't think that you would."

My focus on the wall was broken long enough to allow for a dramatic roll of the eyes, and then my gaze settled on the bouquet, instead. There was more colour to focus on, there. More to lose myself in, should I find it necessary.

"I know for a fact that you are far, far more intelligent than you're making yourself sound right now, Michael."

There was an edge to my tone, and he caught it. I heard the relenting sigh, felt his hand rub at my shoulder. "Would it work better if I acted like I took it as seriously as I do? I mean, I kind of suck at that, but I do take this seriously."

I licked my lips. "I know." I still didn't look at him, though. Too busy trying to decide if the edges of the lilacs were browning, or if it was just a shadow. "But... you swear you won't tell Nicky any of this? Because she'll rip the guy apart."

"Oh. That doesn't sound good at all, Braz," he said. "Promise."

I took a long, deep breath, reminding myself midway through to savour the fact that I could take a long, deep breath without it hurting, and rubbed a hand over my forehead. "You know how sometimes you forgive somebody, but the... trust, I suppose, just... isn't there, yet? Like, I'm not angry at him. I don't resent him even a little bit, but- thrusting my heart into his hands doesn't exactly seem like the wisest course of action, right now."

For a second, Michael didn't say anything. He broke the silence with, "Actually, that makes sense."

"Plus, I feel kind of ridiculous for craving something that I had back when I was fifteen freaking years old." Technically, I'd had also had it for a couple months of the sixteenth year, but still. I'd been... younger. To an extent.

Michael snorted. "Braz, listen. You two had buttloads of chemistry back then, and you had buttloads of chemistry when you were sixteen, and you have buttloads of chemistry now. If you're going to worry about anything, please make it be not that." He rubbed my shoulder again. "I mean, focus on the sentimental value of it. You've knew each other when you were kids. You re-found each other in high school, and you're re-finding each other again when one of you's graduated and the other's a few months away from it. Like, that's harlequin romance bestseller material right there."

I didn't know if it was on my tongue or my own spit or the air, but I choked on something, and it made my lungs hurt. Even Michael looked momentarily worried. I calmed the fit, rubbing my throat and blinking the water out of my eyes. "Please, please never compare me to a harlequin romance novel ever again. I've read harlequin romance, and- no. We're not doing that." I was laughing, though. Not hard, or loud, or particularly fully, but it was still laughing.

Michael laughed with me. "Okay, fine. But seriously, don't you dare get caught up in that form of pessimism. It reeks of North American culture-bred apathy and scepticism, and I don't like it one bit."

I settled back a bit, a little comforted by his sudden seriousness. I knew that he took things more seriously than he acted, but it was nice to be reminded, sometimes. "Okay, so I'll try not to get caught up in how kiddish I feel, then. That doesn't annihilate the broken-trust factor."

"Nope, but I've got something to say about that, too."

I waited for him to keep going, but he didn't, so I braved meeting his gaze again. I'd started staring through everything I tried to focus on, anyway. "What?"

"Firstly, that you already trust him enough to initiate hugs, and hand-holding, and- okay, he practically cuddled you, Braz. I mean, not really, but his head was at least brushing your side that one day. So, obviously, you trust him a little bit. And you do, without a doubt, still have some serious love-related feelings swirling around down there."

I exhaled through a pocket I made with the corner of my lips, a little surprised that my bangs were long enough to flutter. One of the first things I'd do when I got out of the hospital was get my hair trimmed. "I never said that I wasn't willing to give pieces back right away." I'd asked him to stay, essentially. That said something, and I refused to let it be a something that I regretted. "I just don't know how quickly I'm willing to go for full-throttle relationship." I frowned. "Again."

Michael blinked, slowly, confusedly, with his forehead wrinkling and his lips drawing down. "You are way over-thinking this, sugarbean." And there went my eyes again, gluing themselves to Koby's card for further studying. I even grabbed it off the shelf and opened it. "Go slow. Hold hands a little. Hell, snuggle it up a bit, even. Be a romantic interest while you build back the whole friendship thing, and then you'll kiss or some shit, and it'll all be great, and I'll get my mom to start planning the wedding."

I frowned, closing the card, and mulled that over for a second. It dawned on me that what he was saying was really just a very, very simplified, much clearer version of what I'd been thinking, and that I'd been stressed out about something that was, probably, a little on the petty side.

"You're so much better at this than Nicky is," I muttered, scratching at the back of my neck. He was. I mean, it balanced out, because she was far better at taking care of the less people-oriented problems than he was. I could barely stand to talk to Michael about certain internal conflicts- he summarized. He organized your mind into neat little index cards and filed them away, and sometimes, that wasn't a good thing. In instances such as this though, it was an excellent thing.

"Yeah, I know," he said, and I think that we both looked at the clock at exactly the same time. "Crap. I've gotta be gone in, like, ten minutes."

And then we just sat there. I looked down and fidgeted with my sheets, and he stared at his hands, and I think that were were both ready to start crying. Video chat was fine, but it wasn't the same as actually having him here. Michael was... he was a piece of home, to summarize, just like Nicky was. I'd forgotten how uplifting it was to have him sitting next to me when the world drew its head back and let out a breath of hell's fire.

My eyes misted over, and I buckled and broke the silence. "In light of all of the serious, would it be morally wrong or unethical of me to ask for something more thoughtless and lighthearted?" I asked quietly.

He looked up at me. "I don't think so. I mean, thoughtless isn't really your thing, but everyone needs a little bit of it sometimes." He paused, leaning forward a little ways. "In my opinion, anyway. Whatcha after?"

I looked at him, smiling as best I could. He was one of my best friends. He'd been my second relationship, technically, even if it had only lasted three weeks. I didn't see why I had to be shy about asking what I wanted to. "Would you be entirely opposed to a goodbye kiss?"

His eyebrows shot up, and I could tell that he was attempting to bite back a grin. "As in a kiss-kiss? Because I'm kind of ashamed to say that I'd be pretty down for that." The grin was released. "If I remember correctly, you have pretty nice lips."

I rolled my eyes, propping myself up a little. "Before I change my mind would be nice."

He leaned over, following the request to a T. It wasn't a rough kiss, exactly, but both of us knew that it'd feel more like fake romance than an intense show of friendship if we went for soft, so we didn't. There was force behind it, and my hand crept to the back of his neck when his settled between my shoulder blades. And it held. And held, and held, until his tongue was rolling against my bottom lip, and I knew that, in light of the situation, I probably should have felt a little bit ashamed of myself. But I didn't. He was a good kisser, and, where romance was lacking, it was safe to say that some degree of teen lust existed between us. This was an innocent enough way to show it.

And then the door squeaked, and we didn't snap apart- I suppose that neither of us really felt the need to- but we did draw back, and our hands were back in our own laps faster than Parker could blink. I bit my lip and looked down, keenly aware of the surprise in his face- he hadn't even let go of the door to let it fall shut yet.

Michael cleared his throat. "He wanted a goodbye kiss," he said without so much as faltering. Granted, I didn't think that Michael ever faltered. He didn't open his mouth without knowing precisely what was going to come out of it, and he was extremely good at making sure that he said it just as it sounded in his head.

So all that Parker had left to do was nod, and finally let the door swing shut, and take a slow, measured sip from his coffee cup. "That makes sense, I guess," he said, and then he frowned. "Wait, you're leaving today?"

Michael nodded.

"Man. I kind of forgot that you even had to go." He seemed genuinely disappointed; I wasn't catching a single whiff of passive-aggressive undertones.

Which meant that it was safe to look at him head-on again, so I did. And God knows how genuine the smile that sparked was. I didn't mention what it was that made me smile, because he and Michael were having a moment, and I didn't want to interrupt. But he caught my gaze, and judging from his own smirk, I think that he knew what I was grinning at him about, too.

"Yeah. I'd really rather stay, actually," Michael continued, evidently oblivious. I didn't see how he was oblivious, exactly, but that was fine. He was selectively observant at best. "I mean, I have to go make sure my sister's boyfriend doesn't need a thorough beating, because my dad likes him, and my mom thinks he's just peachy, so I guess that I probably should go back." He sighed. "Also, I want to graduate."

Parker chuckled, striding over to the opposite side of my bed to fall into one of the chairs. "Well, somebody's gotta do it, I guess. You don't like the boyfriend, I take?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "Not a bit. He's unintelligent, unremarkable, deceivingly polite, good-natured, civil, the list goes on."

I turned to look at him. "Wait, he's deceivingly polite, as well as good-natured and civil, or he's deceivingly polite, deceivingly good-natured, and deceivingly civil? Because one of those things is not like the other, nor is it nearly as bad."

He paused for a second to mull that over. "The latter, probably," he decided with a curt nod.

Parker sighed sympathetically. "Is he at least attractive?"

"Not even a little." He rolled his eyes and gave his head a disappointed shake. "I can't get passed his nose. It curves up too much and it's too far away from his upper lip, and he never mows the space between, if you know what I mean."

I watched Parker's nose scrunch. "The creeper 'stache?"

Michael's responding shudder was theatrically exaggerated, and at that point, I was more than content to sit back and let my gaze drift between them in turn. "The creeper 'stache, man," he whispered. "Like, super brunette white guy creeper 'stache. The I-am-exceedingly-obvious-and-scraggly-and-there's-nothing-you-can-do-about-it creeper 'stache."

Parker winced. "Ouch. Good look, soldier."

There was a salute from Michael as he stood, and the moment of lightheartedness was broken. Shattered into millions of irretrievable fragments, and it all felt like a blow to the chest. He was leaving. Actually physically getting ready to walk out of the room, drive across the city, board a plane, and leave the province for God knew how long. My heart sank the equivalent of ten stories, I was sure of it.

He stopped to look at me, and then at Parker, and then he smiled this lopsided, halfhearted smile. "Good luck, you two." He looked at Parker. "You have my cell number?" Parker answered in the affirmative. "Good. I expect texts, you hear me?"

"You'll get 'em," Parker promised.

"Awesome." Michael turned his attention towards me. "Skype. As soon as you're out of this shitty little hole, we're video chatting, okay?" He stooped to kiss my temple, and my eyes misted over. "Get better, dummy. Don't let any more hoolirats beat on you, got it?"

I nodded, heaving a sigh that my chest protested with a throb. "Got it. See you on Skype, Michael."

He smiled. "See you on Skype. And seriously, good luck, you two." I knew that there was more that he wanted to tack to the end of that- something about wedding arrangements or bachelor parties or something- but he didn't, and I felt like that was for my sake.

I lifted a hand to wave, and Parker followed suit. He saluted, backed out of the room, and let the door drift shut behind him.