#michor

i can do u one better i think:

"Cons," Travis slapped his brother's back, when Connor stopped walking. "You're spacing out on me. Why'd you stop?"

"The bridge," Connor inhaled. "The bridge- it's gone."

"Is it?" Travis glanced past him, elbowing Connor out the way. "Oh, dang," He let out a low whistle, "You think we did that?"

"Does it matter? There were people there." Michael was there. Or at least he was. It was the last place they saw each other, Connor making his choice and running to the his cabin, rather than staying with Michael. He made his choice.

Travis shrugged. "It was probably all monsters." He elbowed him. "What's with you? You're all quiet even though we just won a war. How many people can say that?"

"I should've been on that bridge. I should've stayed there."

"What?" Travis flicked his ear. "Did you not hear me? We won a WAR. You're lucky to be alive."

Connor glanced back to the cityscape, where the Williamsburg bridge was gone, crumbling edges and dusty fog left behind. He swallowed, thinking about how he should've been there. Connor should've been left behind.

Instead, Michael was. And Connor would never forgive himself for it.

valdew is fine but

THIS IS A MICHOR BLOG

I hate how long this took me to wriiiiiiite

Who knew theater kids actually threw the best parties on campus. Maybe Michael should’ve known that considering it was his junior year and he was technically a theater kid, but he had self-respect and tried to avoid that part of life. No need to hear everyone talk about how they’re perfect for Broadway while singing offkey Hamilton remixes. He would play his trumpet in peace, thank you very much.

Still, it turns out that they knew how to throw quiet the party. The house was full of so many horrid, tacky, and glitter-covered decorations stolen from sets, and all the classics from the 2000s were blaring so loud the thin drywall might have been cracking even further. Also, what other parties had the band kids present, drunkenly playing Careless Whispers on the saxophone.

Michael was sipping possibly the worst Jungle Juice he’d ever had (or best depending on if you liked straight vodka dyed pink, who’s to judge) on the arm of an overcrowded couch, watching the two self-proclaimed stuntmen wrestling in the center of the room. Drunk college kids? Truly iconic.

“I got ten on the big guy,” said someone next to Michael. He turned and saw a curly-haired, freckled guy he did not know in the slightest. Michael blanched, taken aback that some guy really had the nerve to talk to him.

“It is a party,” the guy continued. “People may talk to you.”

“I know,” Michael said, sipping his drink. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The guy gave a short laugh. “Shame, I have a feeling I’d like talking to you.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Well then what is it.”

“My mom always said not to give it out to strangers,” Michael smirked. Maybe he was enjoying teasing the stranger just a little bit.

“Ah, so you’re a walking cliche. I can work with that.” The guy held his hand out for Michael to take. “Names Connor.”

Michael took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Well I’m Michael, and I typically like it when guys are a little more forward than a handshake.”

Connor raised a brow. “Yet you don’t want them talking to you at a party?”