#((okay wrote more than intended because i wanted to give context but obv you don't need to match length lmao))

[ladyseidr]

@florietiae ( for jules, based on this )

Mike didn't talk to his parents. That was just how it was now. At age eleven he had started getting adversarial and by the present, age fourteen, it was largely impossible to get him to open up. For anyone, not just his parents. But, well, up until now he had never had to deal with. . . this.

He'd gone so far as to make the confession to Rory, something along the lines of, "like you more than I should," one late night. And Rory, for what it was worth, hadn't ran. Had even half-confessed the same, face hidden against Mike's shoulder.

And then. . . nothing. Nothing changed, no more discussion was had. It had been a week of the usual—attached at the hip, far too affectionate when alone, but still just totally straight friends. In fact, Michael wasn't even certain he had made his point and that it hadn't flown over Rory's head. He wasn't even certain what his point had been, what he really wanted. Still, that smile, and how red Rory had turned. . .

"How do you. . ." Michael cut himself off, picking at a thread in his opposite glove. He was looking down, not meeting his mother's eyes. This was humiliating. His usual rough facade was weakened, soft around the edges. His voice was unnaturally quiet: "What's the difference between how you think about a best friend and, like. . ." He paused, really focusing on the floor in front of him. ( He only had one best friend; they both knew that. ) "I don't know. More?"

He couldn't say it too directly, scared to admit it and scared for the reaction. Instead, he just offered up, "I need to know if I'm making it weird. I'm. . ." His voice cracked, just barely, when he tacked on, "I think I was supposed to be into girls by now."