#goth michael

  "Hey."   Michael barely glances up from his phone. The battery of his phone is almost dead, and he’s trying to finish up the next level of Bejeweled before the whole thing goes out.   Ike drops down onto the stoop next to Michael, all long legs and worn out sweater. The pizza print is faded in a way that does not add to the charm. “So, we still hittin’ up that pizza joint?”   “In a minute.” Michael taps his phone screen with one thumb. There’s a mostly burnt out cigarette pinched between the fingers of his other hand. “I didn’t think you were actually going to show up.”   “Told you I was gonna be here,” chirps Ike. “And I’m fucking starving.”   Michael glances up, just for a moment. “Yeah, whatever. Let me finish this.”   The phone lasts three more levels before the battery is too low to keep running the game. As soon as Michael puts the phone in his pocket, Ike knots their fingers together. “Really?”   “Yeah,” says Ike, cheerfully. He tugs Michael up onto his feet. “Really. So, what street’s this place on? You know what, don’t bother tellin’ me. I fucking suck with street names.”   “What a surprise,” says Michael, rolling his eyes. He’s honestly not sure how this whole arrangement happened – can’t recall at what point Ike started inviting him out to eat, can’t remember why Michael decided to agree.   But Ike waits patiently while Michael gets his bag over one shoulder, picks up his cane from where it’s leaning against the railing, and that’s kind of a start.   Somehow, after pizza, they end up back at the stoop behind the school. It’s not the best place to hang out, especially on a dreary fall day like this. There are dark clouds hanging low in the sky, an ache in Michael’s leg that always shows up just before a bad storm.   “- and that’s when I was just like, you know what? Fuck you.” Ike presses his palm against the side of Michael’s arm, just below his shoulder. Bitten ragged fingernails press against the dark fabric of Michael’s jacket. His hand slides up, rubbing at Michael’s shoulder in a way that belies a lot of practice.   It’s a lot nicer than Michael had been expecting.   The day, that is. Not just the back rub.