Someone To Hold Me And Let Me Breathe by technicolouredmonochrome, for brattyloser
Title: someone to hold me and let me breathe
Author: technicolouredmonochrome
Recipient: brattyloser
Pairings: Michael/Ray
Characters: Michael, Ray, mentions of Geoff, Burnie and Gus
Warnings: None
Word Count: 6014
Summary: She opens the door without ceremony (he fucking forgot to lock it, again) and stands in the doorway, an imposing figure with her hand on her hip. “Michael Vincent Jones,” and he immediately knows he's not going to like what she says next. “The men in this house were not raised to be cowards.”
There is smoke billowing out the hallways and the windows and the shrill scream of sirens in the background. Someone’s wrapped a blanket around Michael’s shoulders, and he sits on the step of the pavement with his hands buried deep in his pockets, staring at the red glow that’s bathing the whole pavement.
Ray isn’t talking to him.
He’s sitting close, close enough to touch but he keeps that small distance of space between them and stares straight ahead, eyes unfocused, glasses slipping down his nose. “I’m sorry,” Michael tries again, but Ray doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn, keeps staring straight ahead with that blank look on his face and fuck, he’s scaring the hell out of Michael.
The teachers hovering around can’t seem to decide if they want to hug both boys or scold them and curse them to the seventh level of hell. Mr. Ramsey (who’s always been cooler than all the other teachers in school) just shakes his head in their general direction, making Michael feel a pang of regret.
So performing chemical experiments in the science lab unsupervised had been a bad idea.
But if there’s one thing Michael’s good at, it’s bad ideas.
Which means that technically, he’s good at the whole unsupervised chemical experiment thing (not that Ray would agree, and he’d probably tell that to him when he starts talking to Michael again).
He really should’ve stopped when the mixture started bubbling dangerously, the test-tube growing too hot to touch. But he’d been so curious, and didn’t the teachers in school always tell him that he should assuage his curiosity? Keep trying until he finds all the answers he’s looking for?
So he’d put the mixture over an open Bunsen burner flame to the chants of Ray’s “Michael, stop,” only he hadn’t listened, had watched the flames of the burner turn a bright green as it let out a loud whistling noise before it exploded. He loses the test-tube of chemicals in the chaos, but it doesn’t matter, because he can’t breathe past the smoke clouding his vision or see through the fumes choking his lungs. A pair of hands (Ray’s probably) finds him and yanks him away from the site of the explosion, and soon Michael finds that he can breathe again.
Ray looks as disheveled as Michael feels, but he’s always been the more level-headed one, so he punches through the nearby fire alarm (Michael’s set one off before; it resulted in two weeks of detention) as he shakes his head in disbelief.
Michael quickly takes off his glasses and starts cleaning it out so that he doesn’t have to see the look on Ray’s face.
“I can’t believe it,” and Ray’s voice is breathless and slightly croaky (probably from the smoke inhalation) and all parts disappointed. “I told you not to do it. I fucking told you.”
Michael says nothing in response as they speed down the hallways, blending into the stream of students pouring out of classrooms, who clearly don’t give a fuck that the fire alarm is blaring loudly and persistently. Ray, despite them being safely and well-hidden in the crowd, does not slow down, simply grips Michael’s wrist and drags him along, weaving through the students absentmindedly chatting about “That god-awful noise. Do you think they’re going to turn it off soon?”
They are the first out the school doors, and Mr. Ramsey is already in their faces, brows knitted tight with worry. “You two again,” he states, expression unhappy.
“Something exploded in the lab sir,” Ray explains. “We barely got out in time.”
He looks at them and heaves a sigh, turning to the other teachers anxiously talking amongst themselves a short distance away. “Someone get them shock blankets. No one touches them, we can find out the details later.”
Which is how they’d ended up sitting on a small step on the side of the road, blankets wrapped firmly around their shoulders as the adults nearby talk in worried little whispers. Michael tries to get Ray’s attention, he really does, but his best friend is still staring straight ahead, eyes glazed over, resolutely not responding to anything he says.
Maybe it’s best to leave him for a bit, except this has never happened before, so Michael isn’t exactly sure about what to do with a silent Ray. It makes him nervous, jittery, and immensely unhappy. But it is his fault for being such a fuck-up, might as well suck it up and deal with the consequences. (Although the thought of Ray never talking to him again doesn’t sit well in his gut.)
The smoke is cleared out in a matter of minutes, and while the lab is unusable, the rest of the school survives unscathed. Everyone is sent home early, and many a schoolmate passes them by and gives them a small pat on the back and a wide smile. “Thanks for getting us a half-day today!” they call out cheerfully, but soon start staying far away as Michael glares at every friendly wave, emanating an air of go-the-fuck-away. Mr. Ramsey comes back up to them when the fire engines have cleared and there is no more smoke pouring out of every open door and window, tells them that Principal Burns wants to see them in his office, and quietly whispers a “Thank god you’re okay,” as he sends them off. “Please try to stay out of trouble you assholes.” Michael manages a small grin as Ray ducks his head in apology, leading the way to the Principal’s office at the back of the school building. He follows behind, feet all too familiar with this route, and quietly comments that it’s kinda weird all the classrooms are empty today.
Ray still doesn’t say a word.
They reach the office in relative silence, and are met by the tired glare of Principal Burns. He gives them a stern lecture, about chemical safety and how both their faces could’ve been burnt the fuck off (“You guys are really lucky this time”). Michael listens half-heartedly, but keeps stealing glances at Ray, who’s staring fixatedly at the small bobble head on the desk.
It doesn’t last long, and soon Principal Burns is shooing them out of the classroom with two weeks of detention (meant to be spent cleaning up the lab) and two free ice cream coupons (their principal is weirdly awesome like that). He catches up to Ray who is walking quickly down the hallway, and stops him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Dude, wait–”
“Seriously Michael, fuck off.” And they stand there, staring each other down, Ray’s expression hard and unforgiving, Michael’s just daring him to take the punch. It takes a few minutes, but finally, finally, Ray’s shoulders slump. “Fuck you.” (In other words: you asshole, I’ll forgive you this one fucking time; Michael is really good at reading subtext.)
Michael grins in response and waves the coupons in his face. “Wanna go for ice cream?”
“I don’t see why the fuck not,” Ray finally relents, albeit half-heartedly. “Just… jesus Michael. Not again. Next time, you listen to me okay?”
Michael doesn’t bother answering and Ray doesn’t bother forcing one out of him, even as Michael slings an arm around his shoulders and steers him out of the school. It’s a routine they’re all too used to, Michael fucking up and Ray fixing it for him (and you would think that with all the disappointed looks Ray gives him on a near daily basis, being at the receiving end of one would be easier) and then ice cream afterwards, or video games, or the arcade or whatever they feel like doing.
When they reach the ice cream parlor the nice lady behind the counter gives them double portions, and shakes her head at them as they pass her the coupons. “You two get in trouble again?” she drawls, and Ray smiles sheepishly at her. Michael is too engrossed in his chocolate chip mint flavoured ice cream to notice the slight shake of her head however, and pulls Ray towards their favorite seat in the corner of the parlor. He’d brought Ray here once on a girl-watching mission which had turned into a disaster (he’d thought throwing cone crumbs at her would get her attention; turns out girls don’t like crumbs in their hair), so they just sit in silence and watch the cars pass by, a small nagging feeling tugging at the ends of Michael’s nerves.
He turns to tell Ray something, but the thought dies on his tongue when he notices how tired Ray looks, just exhaustion and weariness in his expression, and immediately feels a pang of regret.
“What’re you looking at?” he asks without turning to face Michael. Even so, he can’t help but avert his gaze, afraid that Ray would think him creepy for all the staring.
“Uh, nothing,” he lies easily enough. “Just…your mum knows about today?”
He sighs and looks even smaller than usual. “Not yet, I’m hoping they don’t call her up, but I’m pretty sure they will.” He glances over at Michael, who’s still pretending to not look at him. “What about yours? I know they can get a little bat-shit crazy about all these stunts you pull.”
Michael scoffs at that. “They can go fuck themselves. They were way worse when they were my age. My dad set off a bomb in a bathroom that got him expelled from school; they’ve no right to beat me up over something stupid like blowing up a science lab.”
He’s gratified that Ray merely smiles and shakes his head at that, returning his attention to his ice cream, because his parents were going to beat him up for all the shit he’s pulled today, and he’ll have to find some other lie for the bruises that are going to be on his arms tomorrow. For now, he shoves the thought of that future aside and focuses on the ice cream melting in his mouth, chucking a piece of napkin at Ray when he spots a giant drip down the front of his shirt.
“Quit eating like a fucking baby,” he says, before Ray shoves his ice cream into his nose.
“You quit eating like a baby,” he retorts and dodges Michael’s swipe at his ice cream cone, bolting out of his chair and out the door, Michael immediately following in hot pursuit.
So maybe it was the wind in his face or the passerby that gives them strange looks (even though they didn’t give a fuck) that makes Michael laugh hysterically, eyes streaming with tears as he rounds the corner and finds Ray grinning, a little short of breath as he hurriedly stuffs most of his ice cream cone in his mouth.
And it’s when they’re standing in a dirty, dank alleyway that Michael looks up at Ray and feels an odd thumpthumpthump in his chest that makes him stop short. But before he can think about it Ray has pushed his ice cream into his face again and is peeling around the corner of the alleyway and onto the crowded sidewalk, so Michael pushes the weird thumpthumpthump aside and chases after him, breathless as he races after Ray down the sidewalk.
The rest of the afternoon is spent playing tag like they’re ten years old again, with not a care in the world as they chase each other through the neighborhood (except now they’re fence-vaulting and overturning rubbish bins and causing much more damage than they used to). And for one blessed afternoon, Michael feels like he’s just him again, without the terrible record at school and the terrible grades to match. Even when he gets home and his mum is screaming at him it doesn’t wipe the grin off his face, and he lets her words fly past his ears without so much as a nod in her direction.
Ray comes over the next day, and they spend it like every other Saturday afternoon, playing fucking video games. His mum adores Ray, feeds him endless cups of lemonade and her famous homemade cookies as soon as he walks through the door. Michael just sticks his tongue out at her when she turns her back to them, walking out to the kitchen to grab another plate of freshly baked cookies (“For Ray. Michael Vincent Jones, I better not catch you eating these!”). As quick as lightning, he snatches one from the stash Ray's hoarding and stuffs it in his mouth as Ray looks on in horror.
“Those are mine you asshole!”
“Yeah, well,” he manages through a mouthful of cookie. “She never gives me any, so I gotta steal some from you.”
They spend the rest of the afternoon messing around on Dead Space as Michael tries to steal more cookies from Ray. Which means he actually has to lean over Ray’s lap as Ray knees him in the stomach in self-defence. Which, to be honest, is really kind of distracting, because Ray is a steady warm heat under his stomach that's exposed from all the jostling and play fighting, and when Ray suddenly stills and looks down at him in confusion, Michael finds himself blindsided by the thought running through his head.
Wow.
And it's ridiculous because he doesn't even know what that means, just that Ray is looking at him in this confused way and Michael finds he can't think straight anymore. “I–uh I need the bathroom,” he stammers after way too much staring and locks himself in the toilet, quietly willing Ray to just go home and not wait for him to come back out.
He never thought he'd ever say this, but he's thankful that his mum steps in when he's spent nearly an hour locked in the bathroom, staring absently at the mirror above the sink and worrying his bottom lip. She sends Ray off, promises to check on Michael and when he hears the click of the front door, he collapses into a boneless heap on the bathroom floor.
She opens the door without ceremony (he fucking forgot to lock it, again) and stands in the doorway, an imposing figure with her hand on her hip. “Michael Vincent Jones,” and he immediately knows he's not going to like what she says next. “The men in this house were not raised to be cowards.”
“What the fuck do you mean,” he bites back, all teeth and sharp edges.
She is completely unimpressed by it. “I mean that it's time you got your head out of your ass and do something about you and Ray.”
Well shit. Hearing it out loud starts the panic stirring in his gut all over again, and he lunges forward to close the door and lock out anymore words she may have to say. Except she a Joneses mum, and she's dealt with a lot more bullshit than his (he has five older brothers, she's a pro at dealing with their shit) so she stands her ground at the entrance to the bathroom (the entrance to hell) like a devil guarding the gates to fucking Hades.
After a moment of blind scuffling where Michael tries to squeeze past her or kick her away or make her fucking stop, he gives in and slumps back against the bathtub, running his fingers through his hair, and trying to manage the thoughts speeding through his brain at ungodly speeds. Fuck this. Fuck his mum, fuck his feelings, fuck Ray. (And yes, he'd like to fuck Ray very much, but no, his brain is not doing this, not now, because it's really not a good idea–)
“How long have you known?” he says instead, and even he's surprised by how tired and drained and resigned he sounds when he asks it.
She offers him a small, sympathetic smile and leans down to run her fingers through his hair briefly. “Quite a long time now,” before finally (finally!) leaving him alone with his messed up emotions pumping through his veins. “Tell him,” she calls back when she's quite a distance away, startling Michael from his self-pity. “I'm pretty sure the interest is reciprocated.”
“And what about the part of you that isn't sure,” he mutters morosely under his breath. Because this was Ray they were talking about, who is actually nice enough to put up with Michael, and listens to him bitch about teachers and school and the system, who gets him out of messes and is there to pick him up and believe in him even when no one else will. And he can't fuck that up, not with stupid feelings and emotions and sappy things like wanting to fuck Ray thrown out into the open. He can't fuck up the first friendship he's ever had that's more than not wanting him to beat them up in school.
It's in this state, half collapsed against the bathtub, head throbbing with one too many thoughts running through his mind, that he has the most brilliant plan in the history of brilliant plans, ever.
(Except its going to be a bad idea, he's the king of that, and it's going to turn out so badly but it would totally be worth it.)
The two of them are going to have so much fun, so much platonic fun, that Michael will be able to trick his brain into thinking he only likes Ray as a friend, that all feelings towards him are merely friendship and nothing more. They were (are and will be) best friends in all the time they've known each other, and by doing normal best friend things, he'd remind his brain about how non-crush-y his feelings for Ray are; he'll trick his mind into thinking that he only likes Ray as a friend.
It's brilliant, so simple and absolutely effective. It renews him with vigor and gets him up on his feet, fills him with a sense of determination as he runs into the living room and picks up his phone, sending Ray a quick text.
His mum pokes her head out from the kitchen and asks “Finally decided to get your shit together?”
Michael grins at her. “I've figured it out. Can't go wrong with what I've planned.”
She shakes her head and vanishes back round the corner. “Ray's a simple kind of guy, there's no need to plan something elaborate for him. Just ask him out to dinner, buy him a carnation or something and you're set.”
He shakes his head and dials in the number of the kid whose dad owns the toy shop two streets down. “If my plan works, I won't have to.”
Ray is waiting outside their classroom when Michael gets to school, and he grins as he holds up a plastic bag. “You said ‘Got something fun and exciting planned’. I took the liberty of not questioning you till your fingers bleed from all the typing,” Ray says, eyeing the bag suspiciously. “Am I supposed to be happy about what's in that bag?”
“Very,” Michael says with a maniacal grin before clearing his throat self-importantly. “I have a proposition for you Mr. Narvaez, and would appreciate if you ask no more questions and simply follow my lead.”
Ray sighs and shakes his head. “Oh my god, this is going to end terribly,” he groans, “I'm going to have to save your sorry ass again aren't I?”
“We'll see,” Michael finishes with a conspiratorial wink, as the first bell of the day sounds and they head into their classrooms.
Break finds them pressed up against each other in a locker –in a very distracting way in Michael's opinion– as they take turns breathing through the tiny vent, peering through the slits and waiting for the girls to empty out of the locker room. “This is a terrible idea,” Ray hisses at him as the last few girls, chatting loudly and obnoxiously, walk out of the room. “We're gonna get fucking expelled for this.”
“Only blowing stuff up in the bathroom gets you expelled,” Michael reminds him, before catiously pushing open the door of their locker, forcing himself away from the nice warm heat that is Ray.
“Well, we blew stuff up last Friday, and today we're in a girls locker room. I think it's close enough,” he grouses as he follows closely behind.
Michael pays him no heed. “Quick! Grab a handful and chuck them into the nearest lockers. They're gonna be back in half an hour and I want us to fill as many lockers as we can.”
By the the time the girls return to the locker room, the two of them are safely in the hallway, leaning against the door and holding their breaths.
The first shriek scares the shit out of them, but also gets them cracking up, and they bolt out of the hallway and into the nearest classroom, clutching each other for support.
“I'm gonna hate you,” Ray manages between breaths. “I'm gonna hate you when we're found out and have to attend another three weeks of detention, but it will be completely worth it.”
And his smile is bright and so earnest and so happy and young again that Michael's breath catches in his throat and he barely has time to choke out a “Gotta use the bathroom” before he runs away. Again.
The rubber snakes in the girls' locker room don't work. Clearly, because Ray is smiling all soft and fond at him when he's a mess of feelings and insanity and too many fuck ups in life. Ray deserves better, he tells himself as he stares himself down in the mirror. Ray deserves much better; he deserves to have a pretty girl who'd hold on to his arm and follow him around school and laugh at his jokes, who is as good as Ray at everything she does, who is beautiful and wonderful and brilliant. Someone who doesn't get him into trouble the way Michael does, who doesn't get as many disappointed looks from Ray, who doesn't make him tired and worried and stressed out all the fucking time.
Basically, Ray is too good for him.
He repeats this like a mantra as he walks back to find Ray exactly where he left him, a faraway look on his face as he lounges against the lockers. Ignoring the twinge in his chest when Ray looks at him with a lopsided grin, eyes still blown from the excitement and adrenaline of the prank they pulled earlier, he raises his right hand in a fist.
“Thanks for being a great friend,” he says, and means it. (This is probably the closest he'll ever come to saying something remotely like “I love you”.)
Ray's smile widens, although it doesn't really reach his eyes, as he returns the fist bump. “No problem you asshole. Someone's gotta be there to save you when you fuck up.”
Michael laughs and reaches up to ruffle his hair affectionately, smile softening as Ray ducks and swats away his hands. Yeah, he couldn't lose this, couldn't ruin something as important as this friendship. So for now, he's contented with exactly where they stand with each other.
(Except occasionally, it still hurts to see Ray watching a pretty girl pass by or blow off their Saturday afternoons for someone he finally has the courage to ask out, although he can't help but notice that all the girls he dates are beautiful, fiery redheads, and chooses not to comment, because the days that Ray ditches him for girls are still far and in between, and he wants it to stay that way for as long as possible.)
An announcement comes in one day about the plastic snakes found in the girls' lockers, and Ray shoots him a small secretive smile as he sniggers quietly behind his hand. Principal Burns “implores the culprits to turn themselves in” and chastises them “for behaving so childishly”. Mr. Ramsey notices their smirking and narrows his eyes at them.
“Please don't tell me it's you two again,” he sighs, and he sounds strangely resigned about it.
Ray struggles to keep a straight face as he sits up in his seat. “No sir, it wasn't us. This is news to us too.”
“Hilarious news, really,” Michael adds from the other end of the classroom, and shoots Ray another grin. There is another tired sigh from their teacher, but he doesn't add another word, merely shaking his head as they burst into another round of giggles when Principal Burns describes the incident as “traumatizing and emotionally scarring for many”.
It makes Michael deliriously happy when Ray blows off his girlfriend for him today, watching her throw an angry glare at Michael and a sad pout in Ray's general direction before storming off. Michael can't help the immense sense of satisfaction in watching her go, as Ray starts talking animatedly about the prank they pulled.
“It's the greatest thing ever,” he says, grin wide and eyes dancing with excitement as they head into the canteen. “And we weren't even caught this time!”
Michael finds his good mood infectious, and feels a sudden pang of affection for Ray that he doesn't even try to fight anymore. “Know what we could do later tonight?” he asks, interrupting Ray's rambling.
The momentary puzzlement, and sudden swallow Ray takes as he considers that statement doesn't escape Michael's notice.
So he hurriedly amends that “I want to set off fireworks in the field. I just thought it'd be fun if we did it together you know. It'd be pretty cool.” Something unfamiliar flickers over Ray's features and Michael sharply wonders if he'd fucked up somewhere along the way, but Ray's expression evens out quickly enough and he has that fuzzy-feeling-inducing-lopsided-smile that he's awfully good at, and Michael smiles helplessly in response. “So I take it you're in?”
Everything goes as planned. Everyone else has left long ago and they have the whole field to themselves. They set off firework after firework in the darkened night sky and whoop loudly and unabashedly at each explosion. “What if we're found out?” Ray yells above the noise. Michael sets off another one that explodes into showers of green and blue.
“It would still be totally worth it!” he yells back through another cackle in the sky, cheering loudly at the red and yellow that color the black of the night.
He turns to pick out another one (bigger, louder, brighter), when his eyes meet Ray's and he holds his breath for a moment. Ray blinks owlishly at him, and suddenly pulls back.“I– uh–”
But Michael doesn't want to hear excuses, hear about how he's sorry for staring or sorry for making things awkward (“That was nothing Michael, sorry for being weird”) because for one blessed moment, he'd thought that Ray was looking at him because he liked him, however remotely. So he sets off the loudest thing he can find and tries to ignore the hurt thumping like a rhythm in his chest or the frustration boiling and bubbling furiously beneath his skin.
He watches the fireworks explode overhead and loses himself in the moment.
It's easy to pretend nothing happened when they run out of fireworks and Michael says that he probably should be heading back and “Won't your parents be worried sick?”
“Nah,” Ray says with a small shrug. “Mum's pulling an all-nighter and Dad's back at the bar. I'm all alone tonight.”
Michael offers him a sympathetic smile (he knows what it feels like to be all alone from when he was in middle school and the house would be too huge and too empty when he gets home) and walks him to his front door, both boys good-naturedly shoving and teasing each other the whole way back. “See you in school tomorrow,” he says as they part ways, and suddenly has the overwhelming urge to kiss him good night (which he politely tells to go fuck itself).
“Yeah,” Ray breathes back with a small smile, waving as he closes the door behind him, leaving Michael still staring at the closed door, heart in his throat.
He is fucked. So, completely, fucked.
Ray meets him the next afternoon and they head down to the nearby arcade to beat the high scores on some (most) of the games. Mostly, Michael stands back and watches Ray thrash the hell out of game after game, and soon, there's a small crowd gathered, watching as he plays the fuck out of one of those dance machines Michael will never be good at.
“Dude you should totally give it a shot,” Ray tells him when he's finished beating the high score of every single fucking song, slightly short of breath, hair a mess and glasses slipping down his nose.
Michael scoffs, completely unimpressed. “No fucking way, you know I suck at those things.”
But Ray's attention is elsewhere, and Michael notices the redhead sauntering past them in tiny shorts and a too small t-shirt. Instead, he swallows past the jealousy and casually comments that “She's really hot, you should totally ask her out.”
The rest of the afternoon is spent trying to help Ray pick up the redhead chick, except she's a stubborn one, and scoffs at all their cheesy pick up lines, until Michael, having seen enough of Ray's miserable face, finally resorts to striking a deal with her.
“If he beats you in that stupid dance machine thing, you go on one date with him. Just one.”
She eyes the both of them sceptically, before her lips quirk up in a smirk. “Deal.”
Ray wins her (no doubt there) but it's a close fight, and she looks duly impressed by his skills (which she definitely should, because Ray was amazing; Michael may or may not be a little biased).
Michael inches away from them, doesn't want to hear the plans they're making (because then he might be tempted to stalk them and that won't end well). Finally, he slinks out of the arcade, alone, and heads back home.
Something delicious is cooking in the kitchen, and he follows his nose to find his mother baking up a storm, pots and pans scattered all over the area.
She looks up as he enters, and immediately furrows her eyebrows in confusion. “Where's Ray?”
“On a date,” he replies as nonchalantly as possible, dipping his finger into the cookie batter and stuffing it into his mouth, narrowly missing his mother's rolling pin.
“Oh,” and she sounds genuinely disappointed. “The carnation didn't work?”
Michael takes another finger-ful and tries his best to look cheerful. “Yeah,” he lies easily enough.
She sighs, a little sadly, and pats him on the head, leaving white streaks of flour in his hair. He doesn't complain, and sits around the kitchen, watching his mother finish baking her cookies. For the first time in a long, long while, he gets a whole plate of them to himself.
Pretty soon, Valentines' Day is around the corner, and when Michael wakes up one morning, he is surprised to find redhead waiting outside his house. His mother shoots him a knowning look before heading into the kitchen again, leaving Michael shuffling awkwardly at the doorway.
“Uh,” he says first, because he's an eloquent son of a bitch.
“We broke up,” she says instead, just as eloquently, expression pinched and clearly unhappy. “You're free to have him all to yourself now.”
Michael is a little stunned (to say the least), and carefully fists his hands in his shirt and doesn't say a word.
“He's completely in love with you,” she continues, apparently unaware of his discomfort (or maybe she knows, he can't say for sure and he doesn't know which is worse). “Wouldn't stop talking about you every time we were together, I got sick of it, so I broke it off. He didn't even look too upset about it.”
Michael is still resolutely ignoring her, trying to stem all the pent up hope that is suddenly bursting into his veins.
She continues talking for a bit and then leaves. He doesn't know how long he stands there, staring at an empty porch, until his mum is taking him by the shoulders and sitting him down. “Carnation, Michael, go get one from the nearby store. Tomorrow is Valentines' Day, you have the perfect opportunity to make it happen.”
He finally tears his eyes away from the pattern of the carpet and looks up at her, the slight smile on her face. He finally finds it in himself to grin back. “Yeah,” he says and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I'll make it happen.”
Remember how Michael is the king of bad ideas?
Well, this really just kind of proves it.
He'd bought the flower and had this huge thing planned where he'd take Ray to some secluded corner of the school and officially present him with the flower and Ray would say yes and then they'd be dating or something. Except, the flower starts wilting less than halfway through the day so he rushes to the bathroom to feed it water (he's still figuring out the details) and who should he find there but Ray.
They end up staring at each other for a couple of minutes, both just kind of waiting for the other to offer an explanation.
Ray breaks the silence first. “So uh, she must be pretty cool huh.”
And Michael feels the sinking in his gut as Ray tries (and fails) to force on a smile, and he can't (he can't) take all the pining and the waiting anymore, so he ends up thrusting the flower into Ray's face.
“Michael? What are you–”
“Be my valentine?” he blurts out instead, feeling his face heat up. “I could, uh, take you to nice restaurants, and hold hands with you too, if you're into that kind of stuff.”
Ray just kind of stands there and looks shocked at the whole thing, and Michael grows more nervous with each passing second of silence.
Oh fuck. He's fucked it up. “Uh,” he stammers out, feeling dread open a yawning chasm in the pit of his stomach. “Or we could not? And you could pretend I never fucked up like this? Like just forget I ever said anything, I should've known you aren't into dudes or me or anything, no pressure, let's just forget this ever happened–”
And suddenly Ray's kissing him, all lips and tongue and teeth. It's messy, it's far from perfect, but Michael kisses back with all he's got, until they're pulling apart for breath.
“Well fuck me,” Michael breathes, hands holding on to Ray for support.
Ray offers him a dry smirk (which just looks kind of sexy with his flushed cheeks and swollen lips). and says “I intend to, one day,” which makes Michael's face heat up even further. “I've been waiting to kiss you since forever.”
Michael smiles a little at that and leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “Thank god I wasn't the only one.”
Ray laughs, a happy, breathy sound. “But the fancy restaurant thing? It sounds boring as fuck. Could we do movies and popcorn and making out on your couch instead?”
“Fuck yeah we could,” Michael replies, laughing along as well.
The bathroom door suddenly squeals as it's opened and they jump apart as though burnt. They turn to see Gus the janitor watching them with an unhappy expression from where he's standing. The three of them stare at each other in awkward silence for awhile, before Gus sighs and waves them on.
“Please don't leave a fucking mess everywhere,” he calls over his shoulder, shaking his head as he trudges out of the bathroom. “Fucking finally you two,” he adds just as the door closes, leaving both boys giggling as they link hands and lean in for another kiss.
“Worth it?” Michael asks Ray one more time, just to be sure. Ray smiles at him, big and bright and beautiful, and Michael doesn't even have to fight the wave of affection he feels when that look's directed at him (and only him).
“Fuck yeah.”