in some ways, micah could understand that. there was a reason he never asked the ramos couple for help back when he was a teen, and suffered at the hand of his father. they didnât deserve that type of drama in their lives, nor did they deserve to be hurt. they were good people, the likes of which micah had yet to find in the rest of the world. so he couldnât blame cristian for not telling ââ that didnât mean he liked it, though. he waited before answering, taking a moment to give his oldest friend a once over. he was clearly drunk, which micah couldâve guessed from the balcony thing (though, honestly, they had a working elevator and everything, what the hell), and it was likely the only reason cristian felt comfortable saying these things. for as long as theyâd been friend, they rarely had deep talks. because micah was shit with feelings, and cristian was the type to shit on feelings. he could count on one hand the amount of deep⢠talks theyâd had in their entire lives, and maybe have a finger or two left over. it left him sorely unprepared for this, though. unbidden, he let out a sigh. âjesus, cris⌠that why you donât go home anymore?â even as he asked, micah knew the answer. he and cristian were far too much alike, and far too different, all at once. both avoiding home, but for painfully different reasons. the cold metal of the balcony rail bit into micahâs back, the coolness only smothered by the thin fabric of his shirt. he curled his fingers around the rail, gripping it tight, as if afraid of falling, if he let go. something needed to be stable in this conversation, because it obviously wasnât going to be cristian. eventually, micah was going to have to get him inside. he wasnât going to make him walk home, and he definitely wasnât going to drive, so micah silently accepted the fact that he would have to give up his bed for the night. (so tired. he was so tired, everything just happened so much.) but⌠baggage. micah let out a laugh, loud in the silence of the night, but still so quiet. âman, weâve always had fuckinâ baggage.â even back in the days when crisâ biggest problem was his complex about money, and micah lied about everything. before cristian was a possessed womanizer, and micah was a deplorable dick. âi get not wanting them to get hurt, but you know they wonât care.â and that was the problem with good people. they never cared about themselves as much as they should have.
upon hearing micahâs initial question, cristianâs head bowed down, eyes slipping to the floor of the balcony in order to avoid answering directly, but the expression on his face said it all. visits back home had been scarce ever since his demonic issues had heightened, something that cristian never really realized that he was doing when it started, and something he definitely never intended to hurt his family with. however, what he was doing and why became clearer as his issues worsened. his eyes were heavy with booze and the trials of a long night, but they didnât succeed at hiding the hint of unspoken guilt he felt for pushing his family away for the past couple months. they had always been good to him, even when there were struggles and times of uncertainty growing up, from financial issues to just familial disagreements. he definitely could have had it worse, and although his reasoning for not going home too much lately tied in with not wanting them to get hurt, he still felt pretty shitty about it sometimes. it was times like these that reminded him of his childhood, where he secretly wished he hadnât taken his family for granted and pushed them away for such trivial, egotistical reasons. because now that he didnât want to push them away, he kind of felt like he had to because his reasoning and the consequences in this situation were so severe. cris just couldnât expose them to all of it -- to emmerson. what if he hurt them ? it was a thought that haunted cristian more than the demon itself, and one that only reinforced his gaze at the ground as he spoke. that was, until he heard micah let out a laugh. causing him to look back up at his friend, he couldnât help but reciprocate the laugh, making him forget everything for a split second, even squeezing in a quick, â true that, â with a light scoff before micah continued to speak. â yeah, yeah, but-- â cris shook his head, â but i donât need âem . . worried. â he waved it off, his arm swinging aimlessly, shifting his body weight in his position on the ground. â i can handle it myself. â his last words came out a little more abrupt than he probably intended, especially with how loose the alcohol made his tongue, but they brought a halt to his words as the faces of the mysterybusters flashed in his mind. there was a part of him that knew he wasnât alone on the matter, but another part of him that was just so used to dealing with things on his own.