#something sensible

Trevor's body. It was definitely embalmed. It smelled like Pledge and looked clean and waxy, but they hadn't even tried to restore most of the body. His face and what Michael could see of his neck and chest all looked okay, if a bit airbrushed, presumably because he was laying on his belly when he died. His hands looked a little scary, charred in texture but airbrushed to a flesh tone. Leaning to the side, he could see inside the sleeve of the cheap suit they'd put him in, where his forearm was blackened and bony. It looked a little like the bottom of his garlic bread, actually.

When he saw the pastor coming out, that was his sign to leave. He stuffed the rest of the pasta in his mouth and shoved the bread and little plastic water bottle each in a pocket.

He sat on the curb outside and watched through the wrought-iron fence. He didn't recognize any of the pallbearers- all cousins and uncles flown in from Alberta. As much as Michael didn't want to be a part of the ceremony, he felt a flicker of resentment, that they were the ones lowering the coffin. They probably only knew Trevor through stories from his mother. Fuckup kid, chronic runaway teenager, methhead adult. 

When Michael saw people starting to filter back in the church, he turned towards the wall, hoping to hide his face. He didn't want to talk to anyone here- it was all Blaine County rednecks and people from Trevor's extended family he'd never seen before. Of course, Franklin could spot him a mile away.

“Hey, Michael.”

Michael recognized Franklin's voice instantly (he was the only guy there besides Michael without a Canadian or redneck accent). He stayed facing the brick wall, as if not looking at Franklin would make him disappear.

When it became obvious that wouldn't happen, he turned around. “...Hey.”

“How would you feel about comin' to my house?”

“Bad, is how I feel about that.”

“I'd really like you to come over-”

“It's a no, Franklin.”

”Michael, l really don't think you should be home alone right now-“

“Jesus, Franklin, I'm not some emo kid, I'm not gonna slit my wrists in my bathtub. I'm just not done being mad at you.”

Mad at me because you lit your best friend on fire? Franklin thought. It was a discussion they'd had a dozen times, and Franklin knew nothing good would come of bringing it up. “We don't have to talk, we can just chill-”

“What do you not understand about me being mad-”

“Michael? Is that you?” came a voice from behind Michael. He turned around, worried it was who he thought it was.

“Mrs. Philips!” Michael said, the faux-sweetness in his voice painfully obvious to Franklin. “How are you?”

”Just heartbroken, Michael.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Uh, what is it?”

“I just... I don't feel safe going home alone in this city. And I've been so torn up about Trevor, I don't know if I can trust myself alone... maybe I could stay with you for the night?”

Michael grimaced. “Oh, actually, uh, I'm going to Franklin's house, I don't know if you'd want to come with-”

”Is this young man Franklin?” Mrs. Philips asked.

Franklin grinned brightly at her, holding his hand out. “I'm Franklin. I was a good friend of Trevor's, I would love to have you over.”

Mrs. Philips looked a bit flustered, clasping his hand between hers and shaking. “Thank you, what a nice young man you are.”

Franklin couldn't lip-read fast enough to keep up with the torrent of mouthed profanity leaving Michael's mouth.

“I'm just going to go freshen up before we leave.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, Michael exploded, waving his arms like a cartoon character. “Dude! What the fuck was that?” he whisper-shouted.

“You're coming to my house now, aren't you? And I've always been curious about Trevor's family. Only thing he wasn't an open book about.”