#ocmike

You've never had a brother that you know of, but if you could name one person who would fill that role, it would be your cousin, Michael Bailey.

He was your cousin on Emma's side. Five years older than you, cool to kids and adults alike, Mike knew how to have fun without getting in trouble. It was partly for that reason that Emma and Damien liked to have him around to entertain you, you supposed. 

Mike's dad— Emma's older brother— had died in the War, so you never got to meet him. Mike never seemed put out about it, though. He always had a smile on his face and a joke to tell— something that you, a kid with no friends and few things to smile about, appreciated greatly.

When he was fifteen (three months after your tenth birthday, to be exact), he moved in with you, Emma, and Damien. You remember sitting on the stairs when you were supposed to be getting ready for school, listening to the three of them talk in the living room.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want," Damien was saying. 

Mike murmured something, probably some sort of expression of gratitude.

Emma offered him breakfast. Mike refused politely, saying something about carsickness.

Damien asked Mike about his mother. He was being polite because Emma already knew— she was always taking care of her sister-in-law, the only family she had left— but Mike responded with the same information that you all knew already. Ellen was the same, still sick and getting sicker. You remembered the word typhoid being mentioned when they had spoken about it before.

You clung to the banister, pondering. Why did adults find it necessary to talk about things they already knew? Wouldn't it be a better use of their time to ask things they didn't know?

Footsteps rattled the staircase, and you watched a head of tight orangey-red curls turn the corner at the landing.

Mike stopped when he saw you, sitting on the stairs, still in your bedclothes.

For a moment you stared at each other. His fine eyebrows were raised, making his pale blue eyes seem almost silver. Your eyes were dark as ever and mostly hidden, strands of coal black hair curtaining your face. 

Then Mike grinned. His skinny arms were strained from holding his suitcase. "Hey, squirt."

Uncle Abe called you squirt, too. Mike had started doing it only recently, probably trying to mimic him, and you supposed that was alright. You’ve been called worse. 

Emma came up behind Mike. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw you. "Liam, honey, your uncle will be leaving for work soon. Did you want me to drive you instead?"

Slowly, you shook your head. You wordlessly stepped down and pulled Mike's suitcase from his hand and took it up the rest of the stairs to the spare room, then sat on the bed.

He didn't seem bothered by your presence. He was wearing nice pants and a sweater vest with a blue jacket with patches on the elbows, kind of like how Damien dressed on Saturdays, except Damien was strong and had a big rib cage while Mike was all arms and legs.

Mike took off his jacket and draped it over your head, prompting a quiet giggle and a flail, resulting in the jacket ending up on the floor instead.

He laughed, too, ruffling your mop of hair like everyone else seemed to like to do. "Doncha have school, kid?" he said, opening his suitcase on the bed next to you.

You got up on your knees to see if he brought you anything. "Nuh-uh," you said, although that wasn't exactly true. You would just ask Damien to stop by your school after work and get your homework from your teacher.

Mike grinned. He knew what you were up to. "Just wanted to spend time with your favorite cousin, huh?"

"You're my only cousin," you pointed out, reasonably enough. "Except if Emma and Damien have a baby."

"But then the kid'd be your sibling, right?"

You paused. "... I guess."

Emma and Damien had become your legal guardians a little under five years before, but you still didn't really think of them as your parents. They'd never tried to make you call them "Mom" and "Dad", didn't even make you call them "Aunt" and "Uncle" (but you did anyway). They were just kind of… there. They took care of you, clothed you, fed you, taught you manners and morals the best that they could, helped you with homework and played with you when they had the time.

You liked them a lot. Maybe you could even love them, someday.

But would a child of theirs really be your sibling?

"You're thinking pretty hard there, kid," Mike pointed out, carefully placing a stack of folded shirts in the dresser. He sat on the bed next to you and kicked off his shoes.

You nodded thoughtfully. You did think a lot. Emma always said it was because you were so smart. Damien said it was because you were wise.

You didn't really like how much thinking you did. It got noisy.

"Hey, Liam. Gotcha something."

Said something gently tapped the top of your head. You looked up and it gently smushed your nose instead.

"A book?" you wondered.

Mike dropped the item in your lap. "It's a new journal. Auntie said that yours was almost full. You good at writing?"

You shrugged.

"You like writing?"

This time, you nodded. Reading and writing was as natural to you as breathing.

"How much you write a day?"

"Two thousand words." You’re not quite sure how you know that but it sounds correct. 

"Two-thousand? A squirt like you?" You frowned up at him, and he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Just teasin'. Writing is good, good for your brain."

Emma said that too, sometimes. She was always pleased to see you writing in your journal. Did she put Mike up to giving you a new one?

"Why didn't Emma give me this herself?" you asked curiously. 

Mike's smile wavered, then turned into a scowl. You opened your mouth to apologize but he shook his head. "Nah, kid, Auntie didn't tell me to get this for you, I just— I wanted to, y'know?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Gosh, man. Don't your friends ever give you stuff?"

You stared at him blankly, and his frown deepened. But he didn't look angry at you, or at anything really. It was more like when Damien was worried about something. His forehead went all scrunchy and one corner of his mouth leaned to the side while the other stayed in place.

"Don't you have friends at school?" he tried again.

You shook your head slowly. You spent your class time doing your work, and recess reading and writing. You didn't have the time nor desire to spend time with other kids— You never knew how to act with them, anyway, and they didn't know what to do with you either. Best not to bother.

Mike didn't say anything more about it, but when Emma came to the room to check on him and was clearly about to scold you for delaying, he smiled and said, "Actually, I was wondering if he could stick around, just for today. I know you and Uncle need to work so… I thought maybe he could show me around. Keep me company, y'know?"

Your eyes darted between the two. Mike didn't need to be shown around. He'd spent plenty of time here. Did he really want to spend the day with you?

Emma's lips twisted around, like they always did when she was thinking. But then she looked at you, and a smile flitted across her face. "Just for today, understand?"

"Yes ma'am," you said, at the same time that Mike said "Thanks, Auntie."

You grinned, ducking your head. Emma and Mike laughed.

You'd never had someone around all the time, someone who wasn't an adult.

It took some getting used to.

But… it was nice.

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