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Chapter Text

August 31st, 2012, 12:35pm

The party was everything he'd expected it to be- annoying.

Chris had put this together as a farewell for this season's contestants. After weeks of abject torture at the hands of mutant wildlife and a sadistic host it was almost a relief to be out of the running for the million. For most, at least.

Scott had despised the luxurious hotel they'd been staying at. Surrounded by his fellow losers with not a friend in sight it had been absolute misery, wallowing in his loss and waiting for the day he could get back home, where nobody had it out for him. At least he'd had the excuse of his injuries to avoid showing his face in the common areas, spending most of his time recovering in his room.

But this was the exception. The producers had insisted he attend at least the parting speech as this was going to be used as bonus footage for the season, and they needed the full cast together.

Scott stood at the back, leaning on his crutches, scowling at the host with the one eye that wasn't covered in bandages.

"Friends, losers, one and all, it brings me a deep sadness to say that this season has officially come to an end." Chris proclaimed from atop the stage where a podium was set up.

"Finally." said Anne Maria, filing her nails.

"What a releif." Sighed Brick.

"You suck!" shouted Jo.

"As I was saying-" Chris glowered into the crowd "I wanted to commend you all for your valiant efforts at what has definitely been the most dangerous season of Total Drama yet. Free marshmallows!" he cheered as Chef shot a series of marshmallows out of what looked like a bazooka. The cast cried out, dodging the projectiles as best they could "Ahaha, anyway, what a season, right? We had mutant wildlife, zany challenges, Scott got mauled by a shark-" some of the cast turned to give him nasty looks. Scott glared right back "But now the last episode has aired and youre all off the hook. Come on, gang, what were your highlights of the season? Let's start with our winner this year. Cameron, stage is yours."

The small boy looked startled to be called out, but quickly got over it, thinking "Well," he smiled "I got to experience a lot of things I've never done before. Swimming, treasure hunting, fighting mutant plants. I even got to make some friends!" he said enthusiastically. He stood between Zoey and Mike, and took one of each of their hands in his own "Not to mention I won a million dollars. University of Toronto here I come!"

"Making friends was definitely the highlight for me." Zoey smiled at him warmly before turning to face Chris "That, and I finally learned to stand up for myself."

"And I got to meet the coolest girl in the world." Mike added, melting as he looked at her. She smiled bashfully and they exchanged a short but sweet kiss above Cameron's head. Scott gagged.

"I got to demonstrate my skills and serve my team." Brick declared proudly.

"I got a modelling deal out of it. The fashion world loves my new look!" Dakota exclaimed, posing in all her bright orange eight foot glory.

"I got to clean up the beach?" Dawn chimed in, shrugging.

"Lightning won!"

"No, you sha-didn't." Chris scolded "Next!"

"Uhh, I got to participate on Canadas hottest TV show, and didn't even get voted out first!" Sam said, and then turned to the mutant girl next to him "And I can't beleive I not only found the girl of my dreams, but she actually wants to date me."

"Aww!" Dakota blushed, pulling her much smaller boyfriend into a hug.

"I didn't get anything out of this. The whole thing sucked." Scott griped, smacking the ground with his crutches.

Chris tutted at him "Somebody sounds like a sore loser. These are supposed to be highlights, people!"

"No, I'm with dirt boy on this one." Anne Maria crossed her arms "This show is stupid and lame."

"Yeah, screw highlights, this whole thing was a disaster!" Jo marched towards the stage, pointing an accusatory finger up at Chris "The stuff we went through was nothing like the other seasons! We could have died! Your legal team better be good, Mclean, cause I can guarantee you'll be hearing from my lawyer!"

The crowd stirred in agreement, getting rowdy, and Chris started to look nervous "And on that note, we're calling it a show! Boat is to your left. Goodnight, everybody!" he threw a smoke bomb to the groud, engulfing them all in a great big cloud that induced coughing from the group. When the smoke dissapated he was gone.

"What a joke! Get back here, Mclean!" Jo exclaimed in anger.

"You heard him, maggots. Boats to your left! Get! I said, get!" Chef yelled at them, firing more marshmallows as he did. 

The group ran under fire, grumbling as they did so "I hate this stupid show!" Anne Maria shouted.

Scott was the last to arrive to the boat, due to his current condition "Little help?" he asked as he batted away a marshmallow with one crutch. Brick and Lightning came forward to haul him over the side, a little less carefully than would have been appreciated "Oof!" He landed on his ass, broken leg sore from the fall, and decided to remain sat on the deck floor. Easier than trying to stand, he didn't exactly have his sea legs available at the moment.

The boat sped off, bouncing across the waves and causing most people to grab hold of the rail.

"Oh my god, I'm so glad it's over." Zoey said, relieved.

"Yeah, lets just hope we survive the boat trip home." Mike replied, looking seasick.

Scott rolled his eyes, scoffing. Mike snapped his head around "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing." the other picked at his bandages "Just not much of a challenge to survive a stupid boat ride, after everything we've been through."

Mike frowned "Says you. What if we capsized, huh? What would you do then? Hope the cast on your leg floats?"

He glared "No. Obviously I would swim back to shore."

"Swim back to shore? How? You couldn't even get into the boat by yourself."

"How about you mind your own business, freak."

"How about I throw you overboard so the sharks can go back to using you as a chew toy?"

"Chew toy?" Scott exclaimed. Enraged, he grabbed one of his crutches and threw it hard at Mike, who ducked, and it went clean over the side of the boat.

They looked at each other for a moment, Mike unimpressed "Nice one, asshole."

"Fuck you."

"Men," Brick intervened, voice raised "Are we going to spend the whole journey arguing? I don't think anybody here wants to hear it."

"Can it, brick-for-brains, you're not the captain of this boat, or the captain of anything for that matter." Jo crossed her arms "The shows over. No reason to be civil. I say let them argue."

"Friends, have we not had enough drama for one summer? Let's not further damage ourselves for the sake of petty squabbling." Dawn interjected.

"Oh great, now creepy nature girl is gonna preach to us." Anne Maria griped.

The cast devolved into all out arguing, grievances being aired and fingers being pointed in all directions. Jo went as far as to shove Brick so hard he nearly toppled overboard.

"Hey! Take it easy!" Dakotazoid stomped her foot, shaking the boat and everyone in it. That shut them up. The group fell into uneasy silence, most everyone involved embarrassed to some degree.

"You all suck." Scott deadpanned. Nobody bothered to reply.

He couldn't wait to never see them again.

Chapter Text

August 31st, 2017, 4:52pm

"The gps says 4.2 minuites- my goodness it's been a while since we've seen everybody. I don't think it's been the whole cast in about..." Cameron trails off, tapping his chin.

"A whole five years." Mike finished for him, making a left turn "Not since the farewell party, I don't think."

Cameron rubbed his cheek "Wow, are you sure? We've met up with people quite a few times but... No, you're right- we've never hung out with Lightning, and I'm not sure I want to. Remember when you and Zoey moved into her place and threw a Mutant Maggots party? And Jo and Brick spent the entire time playing DDR?"

"Oh my god," Mike giggled "I totally forgot about that. They we're going for hours- The apartment smelt like a gym bag after."

The apartment. Mike frowned. That had been their home, together. They moved in there together. Now it's just Zoeys place.

"Uhh, Mike? You still there?"

"Huh? Yeah, still me. Why?"

Cameron breathed a sigh of relief "Thank goodness, the way you were frowning I thought it was Mal for a moment."

Mikes scowl deepened "I'm not allowed to frown?"

"No, no," Cameron backtracked, sweating "We've talked about this, you can express whatever emotions you want around me. If I'm uncomfortable that's my issue and I'll leave of my own accord. I was just worried that the first time we saw everyone together in five years Mal would be in the pilot seat. I'm sure you wouldn't want that either."

Mike pulled up into a very large driveway where multiple cars were already parked "Hm, yeah. We're here."

He got out of the car, ignoring Cameron's concerned expression and leaned against the door, just drinking in his surroundings. They were basically stood in front of a mansion- Dakota's mansion. Or her father's. Didn't matter.

What did matter is that tonight she was hosting a five year renunion party. The cast was flying in from all over the country to attend, most people staying the night. Mike had initially wondered how Dakota would fit the entire cast with sleeping arrangements but now it seemed obvious they had more than ample space for their guests. Luckily for them Dakotas place was only a little over an hour away, out in the suburbs of their shared city of Toronto, so he and Cameron would be driving home later in the evening. The smaller boy didn't drink so had promised to be the designated driver.

They would be going back to their condo- well, Cameron's condo. That he bought with his prize money. That his mom also visited every day. He'd purchased the unit directly next door for her so that they could still be close, but he could maintain a sense of independence while he attented university. Mike didn't really see the point of this arrangement, but then he didn't even talk to his own parents, and actually it was kind of sweet how close they were. It made Cameron happy.

He'd been living in the guest bedroom for about six months now. It was better than what he'd previously been doing, which was living out of his car, but instead of freezing his ass off every night and showering exclusively in local gyms he now had to live with the guilt. He felt he was taking advantage of Camerons kindness- he didn't pay rent, his friend would never ask that of him knowing his circumstances, just paid for groceries and the occasional takeout as and when he had money.

He wasn't doing great. And every day he could see he was making Cameron more and more uncomfortable. It wasn't his constant presence so much as his sour mood that affected the other boy, and it really wasn't fair to his friend that he had to put up with it. Cameron was a happy guy- he had a wide circle of friends he'd met at university who mostly shared his interests in science. He was moving up into the fourth year of his degree this fall, and generally was considered a genius in his feild. He had an amazing career ahead of him, no student loans to worry about and a boat load of cash still sitting in his bank account.

Mike had a car. That was about it. He hadn't gone to university and struggled to find work that could accomodate his condition. There weren't very many jobs available that didn't mind if he, oh I don't know, became an old man or an outback explorer in the middle of the workday. He'd been fired from multiple retail positions for his alters wreaking havoc on the store or accosting customers and the like. He really didn't have much going for him at the moment. People would come to Cameron's condo to study or hang out, and whisper about that weird guy who lives here. Cam's crazy roommate. The one that was on TV, who has all these other people in his head, who despite being semi famous was living out of his car, and isn't Cam such a nice guy, to let him live there.

And this is why he's standing here outside, eyeing this mansion like it's a lions den. He has most of the cast on social media, has seen what they're up to. He's fallen behind in comparison, not been doing so well for the last couple of years, not since he moved out of Zoey's place, and quite frankly doesn't want anyone to know.

Doesn't want her to know. He's seen her a few times since the breakup, since they're sort of friends and all. She facetimes with Cameron on a regular basis just to catch up. Knows they're living together. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together and see that he's struggling, supported only by his friends endless generosity, but Mike likes to think he's kept the more depressing aspects of his life well hidden.

He doesn't notice Cameron beside him until the smaller boy clears his throat, snapping him out of his reverie. 

"It's okay, Mike. I'm nervous too." he says, putting a gentle hand on his arm. It's comforting.

"Sorry Cam, just got a little caught up in my own head." he excuses, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't realise they've been standing out here a good five minuites at least "Thanks for being patient with me."

"That's alright." his friend smiles up at him "Shall we go inside?"

The front door is gargantuan, and when it opens they realise why "Oh em gee! Hi guys! Like, welcome to my crib!" Dakota greets them, still a mutant and proud to be in her neon orange skin "Mostly everyone is already here, people have been flying in all morning. Come inside!"

"Thanks Dakota!" Cameron grins, stepping into the mansion and wiping his already clean shoes on the doormat "Gee, you look great, have you done something with your hair?"

She giggles, putting a perfectly manicured 4 inch claw to her lips "Aww, thankyou for noticing, I finally found a salon that could handle mutant hair- We're back to blonde, baby!" She flipped her locks over one shoulder, posing dramatically in the grandiose entryway. Her hair had grown out past her shoulders and was much in the same style as before her mutation, now a perfect platinum blonde.

"And so, so unbelievably beautiful." Sam walks up behind her, reaching up to put one hand on her waist. She beams at the compliment "Hey guys, long time no see. Want something to drink? Maybe a game of Mario kart?"

Sam looked very much the same, a little older, a little beardier, but nothing much had changed with him. He clearly had been dressed by Dakota. Mike had nothing against the guy, but there's no way the Sam of five years ago would have thought to wear a shirt and blazer of all things. He looked a bit like a waiter in an upscale restaurant, it didn't suit him, but he looked smart. Come to think of it, Cam looked smart too, in his sweater vest and slacks. Dakota was dressed to the nines, but honestly that was expected regardless of what kind of party this was. Mike suddenly felt self concious- he'd been wearing his one pair of jeans for about seven months now, the same ratty trainers he'd had since total drama, and an ill fitting black tee shirt that hung off his skinny frame like a garbage bag, WWE logo emblazoned on the front. 

"I'll definitely take a drink, thanks Sam." Mike smiled, feeling self concious.

"And I'll take the Mario kart." Cameron enthused.

"Awesome, I'll be in with you in a minute Cam. Mike, let me show you the bar."

Sam lead him through to a large open plan kitchen diner. Many of their other cast members already occupied it, mainly around the foosball table on the far side. Jo and Brick stood on either side, exchanging insults and furiously twisting the handles.

The ball clattered into one of the goals "Ha!" Brick exclaimed, standing tall, hands on his hips "I win again! You can take your two out of three and suck it, Jo."

"Three out of five!" she roared, slurring her words. Mike was shocked to see her in anything other than athletic wear- her hair had grown out into a low bun and she wore a pair of leggings with a long sweater "Actually, fuck you, you've got to be cheating."

"At foosball?" He raised one half of his eyebrow.

She took a long swig of her drink, what looked like a fairly fancy cocktail in a long glass, and pointed an accusatory finger at him "At foosball! Y'know what, we're starting over. Scores reset, and I'm going to destroy you this time."

Brick scoffed in response "Nah, I won fair and square. I'm out. But if you wanna impress Anne Maria so bad I know Lightning's dying for a turn on this thing."

"Yeah, sha-my go!" Lightning grinned, taking Bricks place as he walked away "C'mon dude, get your game face on, Lightnings gonna win!"

"What? No fair! And I'm not trying to impress Anne Maria!"

"Yeah, as if this would impress literally anybody." The girl herself deadpanned, sipping her drink through a straw as to not ruin her lipstick. She looked good, in a pastel blue dress and sneakers, and was her hair somehow even bigger? Just then she looked up at their new arrival, bored eyes lighting up "Oh my gosh, Mikey? Is that you? I haven't seen you since the maggot party like, a bajillion years ago. How have you been? Tell me everything."

"Well, I-"

"Oh, and multiple Mike has made his appearance. Are we Mike today? Where's the rest of the gang? Wouldn't be a full reunion without them."

"Back off, Joey. Go pick on someone else. C'mon, doll, let's get you a drink, we're having mojitos." She grabbed his hand, leading him over to the well stocked bar.

"Well, I can see my hosting skills aren't needed here." Sam interjected "That should be everyone now- I'm finally gonna go play Mario kart."

"No, no, wait," Jo stopped him, doing a mental head count "Where's freckle face? I wanna beat him at foosball next."

"What? But Lightning wants a go! It's his turn!"

"Oh, Scott? Hehe, I kinda forgot, looks like my hosting skills could still use some work." He rubbed the back of his neck, bashful "He's definitely coming, I confirmed with him this morning. Man, I cannot tell you how much convincing it took to get him down here. Dude's, like, a recluse these days."

Jo sniffed in derision "Not surprising. Nobody likes him anyways."

"Hey, that's not fair." Sam frowned "We're actually kind of friends. He logs on to play call of duty with me now and then."

"Wow, lame." Anne Maria cut in, pouring spirts into a cocktail shaker "And shut it, Joey, nobody likes you either."

"Hey, fuck you, people like me!"

"I don't."

"Me neither." Mike added. Did he say that out loud? Whoops.

Jo just stood there, mouth agape, while Anne Maria cackled away. Sam couldn't help a nervous chuckle, and Lightning stood on the other side of the foosball table, eyebrows raised and a hand over his mouth. Mike could feel his face darkening in embarrassment "I, uh, I didn't mean to-"

"Can it, lanky. I can see you became a real bitch since Zoey dumped you." She said pointedly. Satisfied by the way his mouth twisted, she righted herself, smug "No hard feelings, though. Now, lets see, where's stringbean? I haven't seen him yet."

Jo stalked off, throwing one last nasty look in Mikes direction "Yeah, I shouldn't have said that." he muttered, giving Anne Maria a weak smile.

"No, no, you were absolutely within your rights. That girl can dish it out but she sure can't take it." She poured the contents of her shaker into two tall glasses and garnished with mint leaves "Besides, you of all people? Tellin' it to her like it is? Unexpected. Hilarious. Some other third thing." She punctuated with a sip of her fresh drink.

"Yeah that was pretty funny, I-" Sam was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

"Sam! More guests!" Dakota chimed from the hallway, gesturing with one long clawed hand to join her.

"Oh, sweet, that'll be everyone then. Mario kart here I come!"

They ran off to greet their new arrival, and Mike and Anne Maria were left alone.

Chapter Text

"So. Mikey. Talk to me. How have you been, are you okay? I'll be real sweetheart, you don't look so good." Her demeanour changed, expression full of concern. Mike rubbed his face, contemplating just spilling it all out to her. Maybe after a few drinks.

"Nah, I'm not so good. Cheers." he raised his glass to her and clinked it. She took another sip while he chugged his in one go. It went down a little too easy "Oh, damn, thats actually really tasty."

"Jesus. Take it easy, Mike."

"Sorry, I haven't had a drink in a little while. Rules at Cam's apartment, y'know? No alcohol." he excused.

"That's even more reason not to throw it back like a soda pop." she removed the glass from his hand, unimpressed "So you're living with Cameron now? When did that happen? Actually, what happened with Zoey? I never got the full story, and I don't trust her to tell me the truth. Bein' real with you, me and her were never really friends."

"I, uh," Mike started. He wasn't used to being interrogated like this "I've been living at Cam's place for about six months, lived in a house share for a year, right after me and Zoey, yknow..." he stalled, embarassed about the next point "And inbetween that I, uh, I was living in my car-"

"What? Oh, honey, come here." She came around the counter and pulled him into a hug "My brother did that when our parents kicked him out last year, but that only lasted the summer. You must've been doing that for, what, over a year?" she stepped back and looked at him "No wonder you look so tired. I hope Cameron's taking good care of you."

Mike sighed "Yeah, he is. I'm just trying to get back on my feet at the moment."

"Oh, you'll get there sweetie. Now, tell me what happened with Zoey."

"I, It's not... I don't hold anything against her." He stalled. He hadn't even really talked about this with Cameron "We just became different people, leading different lives. It's not like she even kicked me out of the apartment, her parents did that- they, they never liked me." He chuckled, remembering how uncomfortable her parents were when she brought home this strange boy from the worlds most dangerous reality television show.

"So, what, you two just fell out of love?" 

"Um, more like she fell out of love with me." he scratched the back of his neck, awkward "We just ran out of things to talk about, I guess. And I think my alters started getting to her after a while. It's a lot to deal with when you're living together full time."

"Well that's just you, Mikey. If she can't handle that then maybe she ain't the one for you."

"Yeah, I guess. I wouldn't expect anybody to want to deal with those guys forever, though. Besides, it's worked out just fine, I heard she got together with Dawn a few months later, and they're doing just great. I'm... really happy for them?" His voice cracked on the last sentence.

Anne Maria just stared at him, eyes searching. He didn't think she found what she was looking for "Well, I'm glad you're okay with everything, at least. And don't you worry, you'll find your person too. Someone who likes all the different parts of you, and you never run out of things to talk about with." she gently gripped his arm and released it again "You wanna forget all that bullshit tonight. Me and you? We're gonna party, and it starts with me making us a couple more drinks. Whadda you say?"

"I say make it four." Sam laughed, then added on "If you don't mind, Annie."

"What do I look like, a freakin bartender?" she eyed him up and down, before cackling and grabbing some more limes "I'm just playing with you, four it is. Hey, Scott."

"Hi." he said plainly. Mike whipped his head around to see the source of that voice. Honestly, as much as he'd been anxious about seeing Zoey and Dawn here tonight, he'd been dreading Scott's presence more.

Last time he'd seen him they'd been sixteen and he'd been mostly covered in bandages after a vicious shark attack. Now they were five years on and the scars had healed into a network of jagged white marks across his arms and neck, partially hidden by what looked like the same plain white tank top he'd always worn. Typical. As much as Mike hated to be lumped in with the guy, it was reassuring that at least somebody looked as poorly put together as he did. The scars on his face marred his freckles, which were barely visible in the dim kitchen light. They made eye contact, dull grey to deep black.

"Mike."

"Scott."

"You look like shit." he stated blandly, as if talking about the weather.

"And you still look like a chew toy." he snapped back, quicker than anticipated.

Scott scowled and used his thumb to trace a particularly raised scar across his collar bone "Always gonna." he stalked over and sat at one of the stools by the island counter, across from Anne Maria. Sam took the seat between him and Mike, who remained standing "Now that that's out of the way," he shot Mike a pointed look "What are we drinking?"

"Mojitos." Anne Maria said, eyeing him warily as she slid their drinks across the bar.

"Cool. You look great, by the way. The blue really brings out your tan." 

She wrinkled her nose "You flirting with me, wise guy?"

He took a short sip of his drink and snorted into the glass "Ew, no. Can't I pay you a compliment for the hell of it?"

"No." she said flatly and walked around the counter "Thanks anyway, asshole. Your hair looks nice like that, by the way." She playfully ran a hand through his red locks, then turned to kiss Mike on the cheek "I'll see you soon, Mikey. I wanna make sure Joey's not tormenting everybody. Later, boys."

She sauntered away, leaving the three of them sat together awkwardly.

"Dude, why are you flirting with Anne Maria? I thought you had a boyfriend." Sam inquired, looking confused.

"I'm not flirting with her, I don't even like girls. I'm just trying to get on her good side- She's obviously running the show around here." He stated, very matter of fact. Then his face fell a little "And, uh, no, I don't. Not anymore." he stared into his glass.

"Aw, what? What happened this time?" 

"Same as last time, scared him off. The usual story." Scott droned, once again nonchalant.

"You could scare anyone off with a face like that." Mike cut in, gesturing on his own face to mimick the jagged scar that ran across Scott's eye "And this isn't total drama anymore, you don't have to manipulate Anne Maria into liking you. There's no game to get ahead in, so cut the crap." 

Scott stared at him, bewildered "What the hell crawled up your ass and died? I've literally been here five minuites, done nothing to you, and here you are getting on my ass and treating me like shit for no reason-" He continued, progressively getting angrier until he was standing in front of Mike, fists clenched by his sides.

"Oh, you've done nothing to me?" Mike cut him off, leering over him with his three inch height advantage "What about when you blackmailed me, with my own life ruining disorder, that I can't do anything about?"

"Are you joking? You're still on that? It was five years ago, idiot, get over it." Scott snarled, Mikes towering height not bothering him in the slightest. He took a step closer "You're the one making fun of my scars, from a literal shark mauling, that I cant do anything about."

"It was five years ago, idiot, get over it." Mike mimicked in a high pitched voice.

Scott growled, teeth bared, and rubbed a hand over his face. Mike had never noticed how sharp they looked "What the fuck happened to you? I thought you were supposed to be some kinda nice guy." He spat the last two words with real venom in his voice "So what's your problem, mister nice guy? You clearly want to fight with me, I'll show you a fight."

And then Scott shoved him, hard. Mike was thrown back, nearly falling but caught himself on a nearby stool. 

"Um, I'm gonna, like, go get someone?" Sam said, extremely uncomfortable. He hightailed it out of the kitchen, calling out down the hall as he went "Dakota? Jo? Anybody?"

Mike looked up at his attacker, eyes wide, still leaning against the stool where he fell. Scott's fingers twitched where he held his hands by his sides "That's what I thought." he spat "Same as ever, just gonna stand there and take it. Pussy."

Mike saw red. He pulled himself up and lunged forwards, shoving Scott back into the wall "Show me a fight then, asshole! I'll kill you!"

He grabbed Scott by the collar, slamming his head back into the plaster. Scott retailiated with a quick uppercut just below Mike's ribs, breifly winding him. The redhead used this opportunity to throw Mike to the floor where he hit his head on the tiles.

"Ah, fuck!" he hissed, and kicked a long leg out, hitting Scott square in the stomach, who doubled over in pain. Mike jumped up from the floor and grabbed the stool he'd fallen into earlier, whacking it over Scott's back.

He fell, grabbing Mike by the shirt and pulling him down with him. And then they were rolling across the floor, getting in any punches they could. 

Unfortunately after a particularly lucky hit, Scott had him pinned, leering down at him with one knee pressed uncomfortably on either arm "You're gonna kill me, huh? You wish, prettyboy." He dug around in his pocket, and pulled out a multitool, flicking out the knife attachment menacingly "You think my scars are ugly? Just wait till I'm done with you."

"Shit!" In a panic Mike threw himself forward, knocking Scott off of him and onto his side. He shouted as he fell, grasping the side he landed on.

Scott gasped, eyes glazing over for a moment and held a hand out "Wait-"

Mike didn't wait, he kicked him in the ribs a couple of times, eliciting pained grunts from the man on the floor, but it wasn't enough. Scott had curled in on himself like a pillbug, just trying to sheild himself from the blows, and Mike felt vindicated, lost in the violence. He was a fraction of a second away from kicking Scott in the head when-

"Woah! That's enough!" Jo and Brick both tackled him, holding an arm either side.

"Let go of me! He pushed me first! I'm gonna kill him!"

"Damn it, man, she said that's enough!" Brick shook him "Look at me, Mike."

Mike stared him down, dark and serious eyes boring into him "That's it soldier, deep breaths..."

They stood together a minuite, just breathing. Mike started to come back to himself, and the reality of what just happened started to settle in. He grimaced.

"Brick?"

"You with me, Mike?"

"Yeah, I, I don't know what came over me, I'm sorry I just... He's fine, right? I just kicked him around a little."

Brick raised an eyebrow "You sure about that?"

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, confused. He turned around to see the majority of his cast members huddled by the door, trying to get a good look at the drama. And then he saw him.

Dawn was down on her knees, crouched over Scott who, while bruised and a little shaky, was very much awake for someone sat in a large pool of their own blood.

"It's not that bad." he argued with her, smacking her dainty hand away "I can handle it myself. And can everybody fuck off already? I'm not here to put on a show."

"Not that bad?" She ignored his other statements entirely "Scott, you've lost over a pint of blood."

"Don't you do that every month?" He snapped back.

"Not the same thing." she smacked him on the shoulder, frowning "Now please remove your shirt, I need to see the wound properly."

"Not in front of these assholes." He pushed her hands off him and quite abruptly stood up. The regret on his face was instant as he stumbled and fell to the side.

Lightning darted in and caught him before he could injure himself further. He held him upright from his uninjured side, for once in his life looking concerned "Dude, you got stabbed, bro!"

Scott snorted "No shit. Get me to a bathroom? I wanna check it out under the light."

Dawn looked down at the pool of blood by her feet in quiet contemplation "You are alarmingly okay with this turn of events."

The three of them moved through the crowd, heading towards the bathroom. Just before they were out of sight Scott turned back to him, looked him up and down with a near-manic grin plastered across his face "Didn't kill me yet, asshole!"

Mike watched him dissapear around the corner, quite honestly in shock. Didn't kill him yet. It's like he wanted a rematch. Mike certainly didn't.

"Mike." Brick said, drawing his attention back to himself "Did you try to kill him?" he asked incredulously.

"No, I mean, kinda, but-" His response elicited multiple gasps from the crowd "But not for real! I didn't stab him! He had a knife, must've fell on it while we were..." he gulped, suddenly realising what this looked like.

"We were fighting." he stated, falling on plain facts to try and explain himself "He pulled a knife on me, I knocked him over. I think he fell on it and I didn't realise, because I just kept going, and then you guys came in, and-" just then he saw Zoey, who was watching him with a deep sadness in her eyes. The guilt he felt in that moment was overwhelming "And, thanks for stopping me, I guess."

Brick nodded, eyeing him warily "Y'know, sometimes," he said carefully "A mans own head is a dangerous place to be. Stay aware of your surroundings, soldier."

"I... yeah." he trailed off weakly, suddenly very tired. He looked to Sam and Dakota who were watching him quietly "Look, you guys, I'm so, so genuinely sorry this happened in your home, I don't know what came over me, and it'll never happen again. What can I do to make it up to you? I'll clean up, for a start." he immediately picked up the stool laying on the ground, the one he'd smashed over Scott's back. Now that he thinks about it with a little hindsight, the whole thing just seemed crazy. He must seem crazy. They'd been in the same room for thirty seconds, for the first time in five years, and it had somehow ended in bloodshed.

"Hey, I mean, this is the cast of Total Drama, and these things happen." Sam said with a chuckle, rather forgiving considering the circumstances.

"What, people just get stabbed?" Jo asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"I mean, statistically," Cameron interjected as he pushed up his glasses "Every day. And considering the kind of people we all are to go on a show like total drama, I'd estimate a stabbing among us is at least twice as likely as any other group."

"Even a group of old timey mobsters?" Sam asked.

Cameron put a finger to his chin "Maybe not as likely as that, but definitely a higher chance of getting stabbed than the average joe."

"I thought we'd be less likely to get stabbed, seeing all the shit we survived on the show and stuff." Anne Maria raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm, good point, but that's based on survival instinct, not just chance. In conclusion, I'd estimate we as a group are more likely than average to get stabbed, but also much more likely than average to survive it. Both of which Scott did."

A general murmur of agreement ran through the group. Mike just stood there, stunned. Maybe he's not the only crazy one here.

"Actually, Mike?" Sam started "I'll take you up on that cleaning offer. I do all the cleaning around here and I don't really want to deal with that." he pointed to the pool of rapidly congealing blood on the floor. Mike winced "And then everythings totally cool, just, like, no more fighting. Right?" He looked up at Dakota.

She nodded, replacing her frown with a smile "Like, absolutely! We still want everyone here. Together. But if anyone starts a fistfight again, I'll crush them like a bug!" she roared, reminding everyone in the room just how not-human she was.

"I- sure thing, no problem."

And that's how mike ended up on his hands and knees at not even 6pm wiping up a pool of Scott's blood. 

He noticed some that he had missed had soaked into the knees of his jeans "Aw, man, what the-" his eyes rolled back.

"Dang stupid kids, bleeding all over the place. Back in my day we kept the blood inside our bodies." Chester grumbled, running down the last of the tiles with a bleach wipe.

He heard a stifled giggle to his left and looked up to see Zoey and Cameron beside him "Hm? What do you want, missy?"

"Hey, Chester. We'd like to speak to Mike, please. If that's okay." Zoey requested, a certain fondness in her eyes.

"Hmm, let me see if he's around. Hold on." His eyes rolled back into his head and Mike returned with a blank look on his face.

"Oh, um, hey guys. What's up?" he internally cringed at the awkward casualness of it all. He hadn't even seen Zoey before the fight- this was not the impression he had wanted to make.

"Well," Cameron started, looking uneasy "We just wanted to talk to you about what happened. Yknow, with Scott."

"Yeah, I mean, I sure don't like the guy, but I probably wouldn't get into a brawl with him. Especially not one that involved a knife." Zoey added.

Mike sighed, pulling himself up off the floor and throwing the last of the wipes in the bin. He tried his best to ignore the blood on his knees "Look, guys, I'm glad we can talk about this because I want to make sure you know I did not start that fight. And I swear to god I didn't stab him, either."

"Mike, we believe you, trust me. I never once thought you'd do something like that, but I wanted to adress..." Cameron trailed off, looking nervous.

Zoey sighed "You were screaming that you were going to kill him. We all heard it." 

He stared at his feet. Yeah, he had said that. Twice. Did he mean it? Not at all, now, but in the moment it had felt so right, like it would solve all his problems. Or at least the annoying ginger problem in front of him. But he didn't want Scott to die- didn't want to actually kill him at least. Something about Scott just got him so riled up. He was just such an asshole.

"What can I say?" he finally responded "That guy brings out the worst in me. It's not like I meant it."

"He tends to bring out the worst in most people." Dawn appeared out of nowhere, startling the three of them.

Once over her initial reaction Zoey laughed "Wow, you'd think I'd be used to you just popping up by now, huh?" She put an arm around her girlfriend "How'd the surgery go? Everything okay?"

"Surgery?" Mike exclaimed.

"You don't need to feel so bad, Mike. It was but a flesh wound. Besides, you didn't even stab him- it was entirely his own fault." She reassured him before turning to Zoey "It was a nasty cut but didnt touch anything vital. The whole thing was very hands off, really. I managed to convince him to let me clean it up, despite his insistance that 'dirt is good for you.'" she rolled her eyes "But in the end I actually spent twenty minutes watching him stitch up his own wound. It was a... harrowing experience."

She tucked her head into Zoey's shoulder, clearly exhausted "So he's okay?" Mike asked, not sure why he felt as worried as he did.

"Completely fine. Concerningly fine. Doing much better than Lightning, who passed out the moment he saw the cut."

Despite everything, Mike felt relieved. At the end of the day things could have gone worse. Maybe. Either way he was horribly embarassed by the whole fiasco.

"Where's Anne Maria? I need another drink."

Chapter Text

"I would like to propose a toast!" Exclaimed Dakota from the head of the table. The group sat around a long mahogany table in a very grand dining room. They had ordered in a large quantity of food that spread across the table from end to end that they had shared buffet style. It was around 8pm by now and after some real food he could tell the majority of the guests were itching to get back into party mode.

Mike sat between Cameron and Brick, who despite trying to keep it subtle he was pretty sure they wanted to keep a close eye on him. He was still fairly mortified that he'd lost his cool the way he had, but nobody had really brought it up again  outside of a few light-hearted jabs. He hadn't found it particularly funny.

He'd avoided Scott up until now, anxious not to get dragged back into any more bickering, but now they were sat at the table together, at opposite ends as if people were trying to keep them seperated. It would almost be insulting if he weren't so grateful for it. But now he had to see his stupid smug face from across the room, looking no worse for wear outside of a bruise blooming across his jaw and an obvious change of shirt. He'd seen the bloodstain on his tank top. It had made him feel sick. He had the same blood crusted into the knees of his jeans.

"Let's hear it, my love." Sam said from his place beside her, absolutely as lovestruck as ever.

"I would like to toast... the most eventful evening I've had in a long time." she smirked at Scott, who sat beside Sam. The table as a whole murmered with laughter, and Mike slid down in his seat, avoiding the looks directed his way. It was supposed to be playful, he thinks. Scott certainly didn't seem to mind, almost seemed to be enjoying the attention. How anyone could sit there grinning like that over their own stupid, pointless injury Mike will never know.

"I would also like to toast a whole five years free from Total Drama! Whoo!" Dakota cheered. This was met with a much rowdier reaction.

"Fuck you Chris Maclean!" Jo hollered.

"You total jerkoff." Anne Maria added from beside her. They high fived eachother, grinning ear to ear.

"Exactly. Aren't we all so lucky to be here and alive, and as well as we possibly can be, free from the clutches of that nasty little worm of a man" She clenched her large orange fist, expression furious. Sam rested a gentle hand on her knee and she came back to herself, clearing her throat in embarrassment.

"Finally, I'd like to make the most important toast of them all. Everybody raise your glasses!" she instructed. Everybody did so, Mike included, but he wasn't paying as much attention as he probably should be. He was still watching Scott, who was smiling as if he was genuinely enjoying the festivities. It's not an expression he'd ever really seen on the redheads face, not unless he was making fun of somebody, and even then that was different. How dare he look so okay, so normal about everything, when Mike was sat here, burning up inside.

"Tonight we toast to love. To compainionship. To finding your path in life and the right person to walk it with you." She smiles and takes Sam's hand. The eye contact they make is so sweet it's almost sickening. Mike uses his eyes to try and burn a hole through Scotts head.

"This is a very extra special toast, to Zoey and Dawn." She finishes, absolutely beaming in their direction.

"Huh?" says Zoey, genuinely confused. Mike rips himself away from his glowering to look to where the two girls were sat together, also confused.

"I-" Dawn starts, nervous, then clears her throat and stands up, turning to adress her partner "Zoey, I have to tell you, I had intended this evening to be a lot more romantic than it has been. But I've been planning this for a while now, and don't want to back out just because of a little disruption.

I wanted this moment to echo the very first time we met. And I suppose it does, in a way. The chaos that comes from all of us being together, it's like being thrown into the ocean with you, and swimming towards the promise of dry land that may or may not come. We'll see many more oceans, and there's always the hope of dry land, and I want you to swim with me always, for better or for worse.

You burn so bright. You're someone who is so real, even in the most challenging of times, and you bring so much warmth to me, no matter how cold I may be. You're the sun to my moon, Zoey, and what I'm getting at is- Will you marry me?"

The table stares in silence as Dawn hovers gently on one knee, dainty little ring box in hand. There's a collectively held breath as the two look into each others eyes.

"I- Dawn, yes!" Zoey exclaims, bursting with joy.

The group erupts in cheering and hollering, Jo pounding her fists on the table, Dakota jumping up and down with excitement, causing what felt like a minor earthquake. B sheds a single happy tear.

Zoey stands and pulls Dawn up with her, bringing her now fiance into a kiss. Once they break apart, she says, bashful "Yes, of course I will. This was so sweet- you didn't have to plan something like this just for me."

"I very much wanted to. No matter what you say, I know you, and I know you would want to be surrounded by loved ones, even if it isn't perfect. I just want you to be happy, and fulfilled, and-" They kissed again, more gently this time, eliciting 'awwww's from the crowd.

Mike wanted to crawl into the floor.

That was going to be him, once. A little under three years ago. And if he'd come up with some similar ideas himself, well that was no coincidence- this was exactly the kind of sentiment filled proposal that Zoey would enjoy and deserves. Hell, he likes that kind of thing too, it's part of what once made them so compatible. He had never really understood Zoey and Dawn as a couple until now, he thought they were too different, Dawn too cold and head in the clouds and Zoey too warm and down to earth for them to get along, to understand eachother. And with the awkwardness of being an ex he hadn't spent any alone time with Zoey for her to explain the ins and outs of the relationship. But Dawn's speech made him see- They worked so well because they were different. They had different styles of thinking and feeling and insights to offer, and they cared about each other enough to compromise and support the others wants. Upon reflection, they probably make a better couple than he and Zoey ever did. Much less likely to get bored of each other.

He listens to people crowding around them, wanting to see the ring. He's vaguely aware that the general consenses is that it's very pretty, but he can't bring himself to care, or even get up from his seat and congratulate them. He just stares down into the old expensive wood of the table and contemplates whether he'd ever be able to find love again.

He can feel eyes on him- shit, he should probably at least say something nice, anything at all to make out that he's happy for them. And he is, really, in a way. He wants them to be happy, even if it means he can't be.

He raises his head to find Scott watching him from across the table. When they make eye contact, instead of looking away like a reasonable person, the redhead just smirks, raises an eyebrow, nods towards the newly engaged couple like he's joking around with Mike, as if he might be interested in what he thinks of this development, as if they're anything close to friends.

What the fuck does that mean? The dark haired man scowls at him and turns his attention elsewhere. He doesn't bother to check Scott's reaction. Mike downs his glass of wine in one go and stands up, making his way to the happy couple.

"Congratulatons guys, this is so exciting." He smiles through the pain. It's worth it for the warm look Zoey gives him.

"I'm glad you think so, Mike. I know it's probably a little weird for you but, hey, it's a little weird for me too. I never thought I'd be engaged at twenty one." she giggled and glanced down at her ring. It was fairly ornate and quite unusual, the metal twisted into the shape of leaves and branches to gather around a single circular moonstone.

"And, I mean, it's been so long, and now we're getting married and everything, I'd kind of like it if we could be friends again?" she asked, and then backtracked "Not that we're not already friends," she said quickly "I mean real friends. Who talk to eachother. Not just through Cameron." She gives him a shy smile that melts his heart. He falls in love with her all over again.

"I'd like that." he smiles back. It hurts. "I'm so happy for you guys. Genuinely."

"Thanks, Mike." Zoey looks like she might cry as she pulls him down for a hug "It means so much coming from you." his brain short circuits at the contact. He hasn't really hugged anyone since... well, since Zoey. It's warm and gentle and he missed her so damn much.

"Yes, thank you, Mike." Dawn says, unsmiling. She stares at him while he holds Zoey, no doubt reading every detail of his internal conflict in his aura. Mike gets the impression that he should let go.

He steps back from Zoey and quickly excuses himself to the bathroom. Just as he's about to slip out the door he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Mikey. You good?" Anne Maria asks him as he turns around. Her tone holds a warning- keep it together man.

"I'm fine." he lies through his teeth "Just peachy."

She raises a skeptical eyebrow and he can feel himself sweating through his thin tee shirt. It's so fucking hot in here "You're not gonna talk to me, are you." it's more of a statement than a question "You was sat there lookin' like the world was ending. You're all bruised up and lookin' like you're one shock away from a god damn heart attack. I'm worried about you, and for good reason."

"Well, dont be." he snapped. He'd had more than enough pity for one evening. He'd done what he was supposed to, said his congratulations, played the part of a normal functional adult with no lingering feelings "I'm fine. Everything is normal. I'm acting normal."

His insistance doesn't convince her any. If anything his tone just pissed her off "Fine, whatever, you just suffer in silence, then." she waved him off, returning to the rest of the partygoers "But don't come crying to me later. Asshole."

Mike watched her walk away, a pit in his stomach. He hadn't meant to chase her off, he just did not have the capacity right now to do something as reckless as talk about it. He needed to be alone, before he made more of a fool of himself than he already had done this evening.

After locking the bathroom door he turns on the fancy LED mirror that lights him up like he's in some kind of studio, displaying every detail of his face in crystal clarity. He thinks of Dakota and her immaculate self styling, thinks this is probably a practical accesory, if you're into self care.

He stares himself down in the mirror, looking at a man who is very clearly not into self care. His eyes look glassy and hollow, the left one starting to blacken where Scott had gotten a decent punch in. He's too skinny, swallowed by an oversized tee shirt and jeans that are just about long enough but far too baggy. He's paler than he should be, his naturally tanned skin looking sallow in the mirror light, like he hadn't seen the sun in a while. He still kept himself clean shaven, but his hair's grown out too far, basically a mullet at this point.

Mike looked like shit. Scott had been right about that. He felt like shit too. Had done before he came here, and infinitely worse after the last three hours. He's sweaty, weirdly shaky, uncomfortable in his own skin.

Being around all these people he called his friends, seeing how well they were doing, it just cemented how far off the rails he had gone. No solid job, no realistic ambitions, nobody in his life he could even really talk to, let alone love. To want to give a ring to. To want to spend his life with. He felt the urge to abandon the rails entirely.

'Throw yourself into the void, Mike.' a dark voice creeped into his head.

'Fuck off, Mal.'

'It's warm in there. Warmer than out here.'

"Leave me alone." he said out loud to himself, voice cracking as he ripped his eyes from the mirror. God. Not Mal. Anyone but that guy.

He stormed out of the bathroom and back through the kitchen, luckily avoiding any more encounters with his cast mates along the way, and took himself to the counter island that Anne Maria had been making drinks on for them earlier. Underneath sat a mini fridge, well stocked with booze bought for the party.

He needed to numb his brain as quickly as possible, before anyone had the opportunity to talk to him, from inside or outside of his head alike. He selected a cheaper bottle, a basic red wine he was fairly familiar with that he would sometimes purchase for himself. But that was a secret- if Cameron knew he'd regularly drink a bottle of this before coming back to the apartment he probably wouldn't still have a roof over his head.

The way it burned his throat was unpleasant yet comforting, and the way it sat uncomfortably in his stomach made him feel sick. It was good. Better than ten seconds ago.

The sound of voices in the hall made him anxious. People were coming towards the kitchen. He couldn't bare to face anybody, not with how he felt right now- he was on the verge of a meltdown over here, should never have agreed to come to this stupid reunion. In a panic he scurried to the glass sliding door that covered the back wall of the kitchen diner and slipped outside into the night air.

It was warm out, for Toronto. The end of summer, when the trees were still verdant and the air was still sweet. He breathed in the fresh evening air, and while it helped calm his stomach a little it didn't do much to releive his mind. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the large and well maintaned garden. There were flowers still in bloom, a rose bush climbing the wall at the back of the house. A bench sat in front of it, overlooking the greenery, surrounded by deep red roses. They were the colour of Zoey's hair.

Mike sat down on the bench, bottle in hand, and cried.

Chapter Text

He didn't know how long he was sat there in his own company. It must have been close to an hour, slowly working his way through his wine, but the tears had dried on his face and his brain felt numb in a way that it hadn't in a long time. He felt blurry. Stupid. He'd had a third of the bottle and wanted nothing more than to melt into the patio beneath him.

It had been stupid to come here. He was comfortable with Cameron, knowing his friend didn't see the finer nuances of how low he'd slipped. The guy really just wanted to help him out, didn't ask too many questions. Just wanted to see him get better.

And on days like this it seemed he was only getting worse. People like Anne Maria could see straight through him. People like Dawn could tell how heartbroken he still was. People like Scott could push him over the edge, force his hand to violence. It was embarrassing, having people see him in a way he'd done his best to keep hidden even to himself. It's like the universe was out to get him, to tell him that no, he shouldn't be around other people, because knowing people comes hand in hand with the ordeal of being known.

Just then, the sliding doors opened. The first thing he thought to do was hide the wine, panicked that it might be Cameron come to check on him, so he tucked it behind his back and then wiped his face on his shirt, removing any traces of the tears he'd shed earlier.

"Huh. Did kinda wonder where you went." Scott said, looking him up and down, wary. He shuffled over to where he was sat, moving carefully as to not upset his stitches and sat down as far from Mike as the bench would allow. He pulled out a carton of cigarettes and put one in his mouth, lighting it "You alright?" he asked, looking pointedly out into the garden.

Mike balked. Is he alright? The audacity of this fool to ask him that question after the events of the evening, as if he wasn't the absolute last person he wanted to talk to... it was astounding. 

"What's it to you?" he growled, ready to stalk off to a more private part of the garden. He just wanted to be alone.

"It's nothing to me. None of my business at all." Scott didn't look at him, instead watching the sun glow red as it gently dipped behind the horizon "But if you ask me, you've gone crazy. Like, crazy crazy. And watching your ex get engaged probably doesn't help."

"I-" Mike shook his head, incredulous, flying into a rage all over again "What the fuck is your problem? Every time we're in the same room the first thing you do is insult me."

"No I don't" Scott frowned at his cigarette.

"Yes you do! You just sat down and started calling me crazy. You walked into this party, where we haven't seen eachother in five years, and immediately told me I looked like shit."

"That wasn't an insult." Scott finally looked at him, blowing smoke in his direction "It was a fact."

Mike rubbed his temples "Oh, so because it's true, it's not insulting?"

"It wasn't supposed to be." he looked contemplative, an odd expression for him "What I meant was, you look like shit, and I I noticed, and I wanted to know what your deal was."

Mike sat quiet for a moment, trying to process that information. The backwards logic of it pissed him off "Why would you want to know? Or expect me to tell you, as if we were ever friends? Why would you even care?"

"I don't." Scott spat, raising his voice "My point is, I came into this party, arms open and heart on my sleeve, ready to put the past behind us. And the second you see me you gotta make fun of my face. I know what I look like, Mike. I don't need a reminder." he pointed at the large curved scar that ran across his eye. He'd probably have another one now, smaller but fresher, just below his ribs.

Mike just looked at him, absolutely bewildered "That's you with your heart on your sleeve? 'You look like shit' is your way of expressing concern?"

"Nobody gets me." the redhead muttered, flicking his cigarette butt into the grass.

"And why would you be concerned about me in the first place? We don't like each other. I don't give a shit how you're doing, so stay out of my business." 

Scott growled, running a hand through his hair "I thought the point of this party was to catch up with eachother. Excuse me if I, oh I don't know, maybe wanted to see that the guy I blackmailed and exposed on international television isn't still sulking about it."

Mike paused "Do you, um... Do you feel bad about that?"

The silence between them was heavy and they avoided eye contact, watching as the sun dissapeared completely, leaving the sky orange and the garden dark.

"Kinda." Scott shrugged "Probably wouldn't do it again."

Mike had had enough of an emotional rollercoaster for one evening. He couldnt handle this too. He pulled the wine out from behind him, taking a heavy swig from the bottle.

"Hey, pass that over." Scott demanded, reaching across the bench.

"You shouldn't be drinking, you lost a lot of blood." Mike held it away from his reach.

"What do you care?" the rehead retorted, black eyes meeting grey.

Mike stalled for a second, and then handed it over "I don't." he said, and watched Scott slowly sip from the bottle. Even in the dim twilight Mike could see the white scars that ruined an otherwise sharp jawline. The left half of his face and neck was just covered in them. It made Mike feel a funny kind of way, seeing him from this angle. Almost bad that he had gone on the offensive about his looks. He reckoned Scott could have grown up fairly handsome if he'd never gone on that stupid show.

They sat together for a little while, just passing the bottle back and forth. The silence was less uncomfortable than the conversation had been, at least. Mike didn't know what to make of it- the guy had threatened him with a knife only a few hours ago, and here he was now, sitting out here sharing a drink with him in a way that was almost peaceful. It was disarming. Wrong.

Until "So, what do you think about Zoey and Dawn?" Scott asked, lighting another cigarette.

Mike huffed, irritated "Oh, I don't know, what do you think of them?"

"Meh," Scott shrugged "Kinda hot."

Mike didn't know why, maybe it was all the alcohol in his system, but that startled a laugh out of him "I- what? What kind of take is that? You don't even like girls."

Scott shot him a dirty look "Whats it to you?"

"It's not anything to me." he said, both annoyed and confused "Just a fact. You were literally telling Sam about your boyfriend troubles not three hours ago."

"So you were eavesdropping?"

"You were literally right in front of me! I was the only other person in the room!"

"Well keep it to yourself then. I don't like to shout about it." he scowled, snatching the bottle back "And I don't have boyfriend troubles. I don't have a boyfriend." he drank heavily, drops of deep red liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wiped them away aggressively "I'm never dating again."

Mike just looked at him, puzzled "Why? What happened?"

"None of your god damn business, that's what happened. I'm just not made for it. I can't with people." he scowled, waving a hand around, motioned to get up but he stopped and suddenly clutched his side, wincing "Ah, shit-"

"Woah, woah, here, let me-" Mike rose, drunk and unsteady on his own feet, but managed to steady Scott by the arms and lower him back down onto the bench "You okay?"

"It's whatever. Had worse." he glared at Mikes hand on his arm like it had personally offended him and slapped it away. Scott panted steadily where he sat, holding his side with caution.

Mike sat back down beside him, contemplative "If it's any consolation, I'm probably not going to find anyone either." he stated glumly.

Scott raised an eyebrow at him, now curious "That's stupid." he said between breaths "Of course you're going to find someone."

"And why do you think that?"

"Because you're Mike." he said, exasperated, rolling his eyes "You're the good guy from our season. And you had a girlfriend for like, over two years. Longest I ever saw the same person was three weeks."

"That's not so bad." he looked into the dark treeline "And, honestly? I think I used up all my luck with dating already. I really thought that was it, y'know? That me and Zoey were gonna make it. That we were right for each other. That it was supposed to be me in there tonight, pulling out a ring and saying all that stuff." he waved a hand in the air, frowning "But it's not. We're not. It's never gonna happen for me, I can't even image feeling the same way for anyone else." he sighed, rested his chin in his palm "I'm so not over her."

Scott stared at him "... Wanna hit me with the chair again?"

"I- what?"

"It might make you feel better."

"No it wouldn't."

"Or do you wanna hear about how I'll die alone? Because I will, y'know."

That startled Mike out of his reverie, and suddenly he was doubled over laughing "Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Plenty." Scott said, shark-like grin shining in the dark "It's a major factor as to why I'll die alone."

"You're not gonna die alone." he said between giggles.

"Yeah, I will," He stated simply "I live alone, work alone, eat alone. I'm comfortable like this. It's when I try to change anything that it starts getting messy."

"Scott, that's so..." he searched for the word, landing on "Depressing."

The redhead tutted at him, lighting yet another cigarette "What's depressing is how badly you're slurring right now. How much have you had to drink?" 

"Not that much." Mike held up the two thirds empty bottle "Ah, shit. Maybe I should slow down."

"Or stop." he suggested "You wanna go inside?"

Mike thought about the party going on behind those doors that he was so adamantly trying to ignore right now. He didn't want to go back in there, force himself to smile through the celebrations. It was somehow better out here, somehow easier to be talking to Scott of all people. He shrugged "Not really."

Just then the door opened again, Sam poking his head out. He peered out into the garden before he spotted them on the bench "There you guys are!" he exclaimed, and then seemed to realise that they were sat out here, together, and suddenly looked nervous "Are you two, like, okay? Do I need to get somebody again?"

"No, no, we're fine." Mike said, suddenly defensive.

"Yeah, I'm not really up for round two tonight." Scott added sarcastically, gesturing to his injury.

"Okay, um... you sure?"

"Yeah, we're kinda... talking it out? I think?" he stopped, realising that that's exactly what they were doing. He wanted Sam to go away. The conversation they were having felt too... intimate was the wrong word. Just the expression made him feel sick and jumpy. The conversation was private, and Mike didn't want anyone else to hear.

"Oh." Sam said, blinking "Thats... unexpected. Just shout if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay, thanks Sam." Mike waved to him, indicating he should leave. The bearded man looked awkward, slowly retreating back into the house and sliding the door shut.

"What the fuck was that?" Scott demanded, whipping his head around "Talking it out? That's so lame."

"Is that not what we're doing?" Mike asked, perplexed.

"No," the redhead blew smoke into Mike's face, making him cough.

He waved a hand in front of him to dissapate it, and turned to face him with a glare "Then what are we doing?"

"I don't know, bitching?"

"Scott, that is so much lamer than what I said."

"Fuck off. You're lame, and I hate you."

"...What is your problem?" Mike asked, reeling from the whiplash "Am I going crazy? We were- we were actually kinda getting along for a minuite there. Why are you acting like this now?"

"You are going crazy and I don't know what you're talking about." Scott stated, carefully lifting himself up and making his way to the door "Now leave me alone."

"You're the one that came out here and started talking to me!" 

Scott just looked at him, expression bored as he took a long last drag of his cigarette. He flicked it towards Mike who flinched and swatted at it as it landed on his bloodied jeans and rolled off to the floor by his feet "I came out here to smoke. And I started talking to you out of pity. Now if you don't mind, I wanna see some people I'm actually kind of friends with."

Mike stood, fists clenched at his sides. That was just... unacceptable "I do mind, actually. I really fucking mind. You don't get to pity me. I didn't tell you any of that for you to pity me." he spat, pointed a finger in his face, slurring his speech "You think you're so fucking clever, getting me to say all that stuff just to rub it in my face. I thought we were having a moment, and you have to ruin it, because, what? You just have to be compulsively mean?" he stepped forwards, closing in on his space "You lost the right to pity me. I won that fight, Scott, don't you forget it. I'm wearing your blood."

Scott blinked at him, uncomfortable. He shook it off pretty quickly, replacing his blank expression with a smirk "Wow, clingy much?"

Mike lost it, bit his knuckles and screamed into them, unable to take any more of this bullshit. He lurched forward, drunkenly swinging a fist towards Scott who ducked out of the way, grinning.

"Woah, woah, no fighting! Or Dakota's gonna get you." he teased, clearly pleased he'd provoked such a reaction.

Mike just stared at him, chest heaving. He took a deep breath and reassessed the situation. Scott leaned with one hand against the glass, the other clutching his wounded abdomen. He was in absolutely no state for another fight and he knew it, yet he still insisted on pushing Mike's buttons.

"You're messing with me." he stated. Scott just laughed, a cackle Mike hadn't heard since his last rewatch of their season "Stop messing with me."

"But it's funny." he whined "And you're really fucking drunk. Nice speech, by the way."

Mike swayed on his feet, unsure what to do. So he took another sip of his bottle "Thanks, I think? Sorry I tried to hit you. Again."

Scott blinked. He hadn't been expecting that "It's whatever. Sorry I won't stop making fun of you. Because I won't."

Mike snorted "Eh, I know you're just messing with me. I'm sorry I didn't notice you fell on your own knife."

"Sorry I was gonna cut your face."

"I-" Mike paused "That's not really okay. But you didn't, so it's fine, I guess?" he scratched the back of his neck.

"I'm glad I didn't. Be a shame to ruin a face like that."

Mike felt dizzy and sick. He couldn't tell if it was the stupid amount he'd had to drink or the words he was hearing "Are you flirting with me?" he asked, tone accusatory.

"No." Scott said a little too quickly "You wish I was flirting."

"Good, cause if you were it'd be the worst flirting of all time. 'Ooh, I'm happy I didn't manage to stab you in the face, because even though I was totally going to, I think you're pretty.'" Mike laughed "I wouldn't be surprised if you were, honestly. That's just you all over."

Scott growled, shuffling forward "Shut the fuck up. You think you know me? I wouldn't flirt with you if you were the last guy on earth. You're a fucking weirdo and not even remotely worth my time." he finished his rant and then quickly added "And I never said you were pretty."

Mike scoffed "You called me prettyboy when we were fighting."

"That was an insult!"

"I'm choosing to take it as a compliment."

"Ahh!" Scott threw his hands in the air, exasperated, and marched forward to grab Mike by the collar "I'll show you a compliment!"

He stumbled and sent the both of them crashing down onto the patio. With Scott injured and Mike severely drunk, it was a short lived tussle that only went as far as a little hair pulling.

"Ah, shit! Stop, stop!" Scott cried out, pushing at Mike's chest with one hand and clutching his side with the other "I think I pulled my stitches."

"Oh, fuck," Mike slurred from on top of him "I forgot. Are you okay?" he cupped a hand to Scott's jaw, lifting his face to look at him. His eyes were sharp, even when he was in pain. He could feel the small raised scars on his cheek and neck, but he couldn't see them in the dark.

The redhead froze, watching Mike sway from side to side, barely sentient "Uh, Mike? You in there?"

The taller man leaned down close enough that their noses were an inch apart, breathing the same air "Do you think I'm pretty?" he whined.

"Oh. My god." Scott said in disbelief "If I say yes will you get off of me?"

He did not, in fact, get off of him. Mike all but collapsed on top of him, heaving a sigh as he buried his face into his neck.

"I- Mike, what the fuck are you doing? Mike?" he protested, blushing furiously.

"Shh." Mike giggled, leaned up just enough to place a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Jesus!" Scott shoved him off violently, sitting up in a panic, and Mike collapsed next to him. His heart was racing "Where the fuck did that come from?" He received no reply and turned sharply to see his companion fast asleep on the patio.

He tutted and then hissed, now feeling his wound again after the exertion it took to push Mike off of him. Reeling from the evening's events he forced himself upright and made his way back to the house. Scott sent one last confused look over his shoulder to where Mike laid on the ground, shrugged it off. The guy was wasted, and clearly hurting in some kind of way. It was nothing more than a stupid lapse of judgement. Fucking weirdo, he thought, and stepped back inside, leaving the other asleep out in the night air.

Chapter Text

1st September, 2017, 4:32am

Scott woke up that morning with no greater sense of clarity than he'd had the previous night.

It was nice to stay at Sam and Dakota's place, nice of them to offer, or else he wouldn't have been able to come. It was a long way from the home he'd made for himself over in Calgary, he'd had to fly in just for the night. They'd offered for him to stay a few days to make the trip more worthwhile, told him that a few people had already planned to do so, but the amount of work he had waiting for him at home kept him from accepting. It nearly stopped him from coming, and he sort of wished it had.

Sure, he'd caught up with some people, maybe he'd even felt a little more accepted than he had during their time together on the show, a little more part of the group. But he had also been injured to a degree that would be irritating while he worked for the next week or so- this trip was costing him more time and money than he'd accounted for. And that's not even the most distressing part of this whole fiasco.

The part that sucked, like really sucked, was Mike. What the fuck had he been thinking? Had he been thinking at all? Or was he too drunk? Would he even remember what happened? Scott took a risk talking to him, got a little too curious and gave the guy a chance, and it had backfired into something... weird. It felt gross just thinking about, like something was melting through his chest and into his stomach. It wasn't a feeling he was familiar with. Were they supposed to talk about it? Talking is what had led them here in the first place, it caused nothing but trouble.

He sat downstairs at the dining table, munching on some toast that he'd procured. Nobody else who stayed the night was up yet and he didn't want to be too forward in raiding Sam's kitchen. Sure, they were rich, but the guy was sort of his only actual friend around here. He couldn't bring himself to be all that rude to Sam.

Scott was an early riser, a trait ingrained into him via his upbringing on the farm. He didn't expect anyone else to be up at 5am after the chaotic evening they'd had. It had, in fact, gotten messier once he'd left Mike passed out in the garden and returned to the party. He recalled multiple trays of shots he hadn't taken part in, had watched too many of his cast mates get far too drunk and pass out themselves. He'd come downstairs to find Jo sprawled out asleep in the hallway, Brick half draped over her. What the hell happened there, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

He hadn't gotten particularly drunk on account of his blood loss. Had even gone to bed relatively early. The whole event had left him feeling like more of an adult than everyone else, watching them party like teenagers while he held quiet conversations in the background. This was familiar territory for him, he wasn't exactly a party animal. Preferred his own company most of the time. Part of him was releived that he'd had a quiet night in comparison to everyone else, but maybe quiet wasn't the right word. He wasn't hungover, at least.

No, it hadn't been quiet in the slightest. Not only had he taken a knife to the abdomen, the guy he'd threatened with the same knife had... tried to kiss him? It was bizarre. It was all he could think about. Mike was clearly off the rails, had just watched his ex get engaged, and apparently all it took was a drink too many and close proximity for him to go for Scott. It was kind of a headrush. Someone who looked like that wanted to kiss him, stupid drunk or not. Had even accused him of flirting, had seemed to want him to be. Maybe Mike was just desperate for a little positive attention.

"Good morning, Scott." he snapped out of his thoughts, looked up to see Dawn in the doorway "May I join you?"

"Sure." he said, spitting crumbs on the table. Dawn wrinkled her nose but he didn't think anything of it "Looks like it's you and me up at ass o'clock in the morning again. Just like old times, huh?"

She sat across from him with a large steaming mug of tea "Without all the drama and backstabbing, yes." she took a gentle sip "Actually, I take back the drama part. There's been enough of that to keep us satisfied for another five years."

"Yeah, look," he started, putting his toast down to indicate he was serious "Sorry if I ruined your engagement or whatever."

She looked up at him from over her mug, scrutinising "Why ever would you say that?"

He balked "For obvious reasons. Most of the drama was pretty me-centric." he gestured to his wound "I feel kinda bad you came and helped me with this while you should have been romancing Zoey. If I'd known what you were planning I'd have told you to buzz off."

Dawn folded her hands together, interlocking her fingers "At the end of the day she said yes, didn't she? I don't believe you need to feel bad about any of that, and I'm surprised you would even think to."

"I'm capable of empathy." he defended, crossing his arms.

"I never said you weren't." she raised an eyebrow "You know, Scott, last night in the bathroom I thought your aura had really cleared up. It was brighter. Beleive me, it still needs work, but things were looking better than they were five years ago." she explained. He tried his best to follow "This morning you seem murky. There's something... tumultuous in your aura. Is something troubling you?"

He stalled, thinking for a moment. If anyone could keep a secret it was Dawn, and even if she didn't know what happened she could clearly tell that something was bothering him. He weighed up the risks of saying it out loud, shrugged, gave in "Have you ever, I don't know, hung out with someone who's drinking a lot more than you are?"

"Yes, for me that is usually the case." she nodded.

"Okay, great. Now imagine you and this person famously don't get along, and then suddenly you are getting along, and then you're not, and then- oh, what the fuck am I talking about? Mike got really drunk and made a pass at me. But he was, like, so wasted it wasn't funny. I don't think he'll even remember."

Dawn just stared, eyes wide in surprise "Hm... Yes, that is a rather unusual situation. Did you indicate at all that you would want him to 'make a pass at you', as you say?"

"No. God no." Scott snorted, averted his eyes. If his face got a little red she didn't say anything about it "We were literally fighting. And I shoved him off me as soon as he started, y'know..."

"You were fighting again? With your injury?" she frowned.

"Oh, don't start lecturing me." he snapped "I'm not looking for advice on how to handle myself. I know my limits. I just... I don't know what to do about it, Dawn. It was so out of left field, I feel all weird about it. The guy hates me, gets wasted and tries to cuddle with me. It's just so..." he trailed off, rubbing his neck. He couldn't meet her eye.

"I see." she went quiet for a moment, zoning out entirely. She snapped back into reality, shaking her head as if to clear it before continuing with certainty "Scott, if you're looking for my advice, I'll tell you to pretend it didn't happen. You were happer before it did- you were happier after you'd been stabbed, for goodness sake. The two of you are inherantly bad for each other, and I see nothing but turmoil in your future if you persue the matter any further. Just continue to live your life and ignore him at any future reunions."

"Yeah? I- yeah." he said solemnly, staring down at his toast "You don't think I should at least talk to him about it?"

She scrutinised him, her cold grey gaze peircing "Personally, I don't think you should ever speak to Mike again. He muddies your aura."

Scott didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, he couldn't stand Mike. He pissed him off, being a stupid self sacrificing nice guy, with all his stupid friends, living his stupid happy nice guy life. On the other hand, was that even who Mike was anymore? He gave his fair fire in their fighting, and the Mike of five years ago wouldn't have sunk so low as to attack him. It seemed like really Mike didn't have many more friends these days than Scott did. And he was just so miserable.

No, he wasn't the happy nice guy he'd been back on Total Drama, if he ever really had been in the first place. This Mike was far more tolerable, easier to push his buttons, and quite frankly, Scott had enjoyed bantering with him. Maybe that was a strange way to feel about it, but he had to get his kicks somewhere, and getting on his nerves was fun. He wouldn't mind doing it again sometime. Wouldn't mind getting drunk with him. Wouldn't terribly mind if he tried to kiss him again either.

That was a dangerous thought. Maybe Dawn was right.

Is that why he had this gross bubbly feeling in his chest? Because he'd engaged in something dangerous? The way Mike had cozied up to him brought on a panic that no other physical encounter really had. It was unexpected, and far too intimate for two guys who supposedly hated each other. Scott will admit to himself, very very quietly, that he does indeed think Mike is pretty, but having that being anything other than a secret would be criminal in his books. 

He shook it off, returning to the present "If you say so. I dunno, thought you'd tell me to forgive and forget or whatever. You're into all that peace and forgiveness crap."

Dawn gave him a skeptical look "Things change. Or maybe you misread me. You may be a beetle whisperer, but you're not so good at reading people."

"I'm plenty good at reading people. How do you think I got so far on the island, huh?" he defended, sitting forward in his chair.

"Underhanded tactics and bold faced lies. Either way, I'm not the forgiving type."

He stalled at that, wary of her stony gaze "Are you still mad about what happened on the island?"

"Not really." her shoulders slumped "I was never there to win in the first place. I suppose I just find it quite embarrassing that I wasn't able to see through your ruse until it was too late. Your aura is just so messy. There's too many colours, and they swirl together into this mucky brown cloud that is just intolerable to look at." she sipped her tea "That's why it was nice, last night, to see it predominantly one colour. Yours is a very lively shade of red. Almost pink in some parts."

"Pink? That's pretty gay."

"Yes. And so are you." she smirked at him playfully.

"Irrelevant." he grinned, shoving the last of his toast in his mouth. Spitting crumbs he said "You're green, aren't you?"

She looked surprised "I- yes, I am. How could you tell?"

"Maybe you misread me." he quipped "Maybe I'm more than a beetle whisperer."

"Hmm." she contemplated "Perhaps. I will say, Scott, of all the auras I've seen, your's is by far one of the most difficult to read. I rarely know what to think of you. Especially when it's as murky as it is this morning."

He chuckled "Sounds about right. I don't know what to think of you, either. Weirdo." he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head "I- Dawn. We're friends, right?"

She raised a careful eyebrow "What gave you that impression?"

"You helped me." he stated, eyes serious "When you were supposed to be romancing your fiance."

"Do you think I wouldn't help anyone in need?" 

"I wasn't exactly in need." he rolled his eyes "I can handle my own stitches."

"Yes, I am aware. And yet you had me sit there and watch."

"Maybe I like your company."

"I don't particularly like yours."

He snorted and sat himself upright again "Oh, come on. You're sat here with me, aren't you?"

"We are the only people awake."

"Oh, you're impossible." he groaned, and she tittered as he fowned, a delicate little laugh like a wind chime.

She gazed at him from across the table with an unusual warmth in her silvery eyes "There is a light in you, Scott. That will be brighter than it is now. You are capable of the work it will take, and you will get the things that you want."

He blinked at her. Nodded silently, oddly reassured. Dawn just sipped her tea.

///

"Aw, man, it was great to see you both in person for once. Real bummer you guys gotta go so soon." Sam grabbed his friends and pulled them into a hug, much to their discomfort. Lightning and Scott exchanged a look from above Sam's head.

"Lightning's gotta get back to his team." Lightning stated as he was released from the hug "We're playing the Argonauts next week. Got the advantage, though. Was wicked to see their stadium on the way over."

"Yeah, football! I, uh, know so much about that." he chuckled awkwardly "Hope you guys, like, win or whatever."

"Of course we're gonna win! Go Lions! Go Lightning! Sha-boom!" He ran out the front door, arms over his head in a completely unnecessary victory pose.

"...I'm just happy he gets to do what he loves." Sam said, watching him run to the taxi.

Scott shook his head "Yeah, well, I've gotta share a ride to the airport with him." he glanced out at the cab sat in the driveway and turned back to his friend "Thanks, Sam, for hosting a wild night. And for bothering to invite me."

"Of course." he said, expression soft "I hope it didn't put you off seeing us. Uh, getting hurt, I mean."

"Eh, I've had worse."

"Yeah, I know." he chuckled "Hope you get better soon, man. Hey, COD on friday?"

Scott grinned "I'm a fast healer. And sure, I'll catch you online."

"Sweet." they exchanged a fist bump and parted ways, Scott turning towards the door.

Just then a very hungover Mike shuffled into the hallway looking extremely sorry for himself. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary, hair a tangled mess and clothes dirty from where he slept on the ground "Uh, hey, Sam, is Cam still around? Guess I stayed over by accident, haha..."

God, he looked miserable. The sight of him did something funny to Scotts stomach, could almost feel the sensation of him pressing his face into his neck all over again. He wanted to shout at him. He wanted to run away. He wanted to shove him to the ground and ask what the hell his problem was, punch him in his already blackened eye, kiss him hard enough to bruise-

No, no. 

Sam turned to him in surprise "Yeah, he's chilling in the games room. We were worried about you, man. What happened?"

"Slept in the garden. Not sure what else." he rubbed his forehead, frowning. When he looked up he met eyes with Scott, who was watching him like a hawk, angled to run away if he needed to "I- hey, where'd you go last night? Did, did we-?" Mike made a face.

"I have to get a cab." he said quickly, revealing nothing "Later."

"Oh, bye, Scott!" Sam waved out the door. Scott raised a hand in acknowledgement, not looking back.

"Yeah, bye." Mike muttered.

Chapter Text

11th September, 2017, 6:45am

The sun had fully risen by now, casting a warm glow throughout the apartment. Scott had been up for a while, padding around, gathering equipment for the day.

It was strange, coming home. After the fiasco of the reunion things had felt sort of... off. He had to remind himself that the reunion itself was the oddity in his life, not his quiet little home. This was his routine, his normal. This was what he liked to do. If the the silence of the days let him delve too far into his thoughts that was entirely his own fault. He had to convince himself he wasn't getting bored. That he wasn't feeling lonely.

That he wasn't still thinking about the things Dawn said, or imagining countless scenarios where he'd confronted Mike then and there, beat his sorry hungover ass into the ground. Scenarios where perhaps after a good beatdown he receives a confession of attraction- Mike on his knees, shamefully admitting he had meant full well to kiss him. He asks nicely if he can do it again, properly this time. Scott revels in this victory, is maybe feeling gracious enough to indulge such a request. Just silly little fantasies that play in his head throughout the day, nothing realistic. Nothing that would ever happen for someone like him.

Oh well. Back to work.

Scott enjoyed his work- he made his money building things, working with his hands. Furnature, mostly. Often sculptures. He'd been doing this for over three years now, had taken a good while to build up a reputation, but now he had regular clients and a steady income, his own website where he could display his creations and receive requests for commissions from people all across the country. He was lucky enough that he could pick and choose what projects he took on these days.

Good honest work, he thinks his pappy might say. He doesn't know. Hasn't spoken to him in a while.

He had a large garage attached to his ground floor apartment that he used for woodworking, stocked to the brim with tools and materials that he'd collected over the years. He stepped into his workshop, flicking on the fluorescent overhead light and breathed in the smell of sawdust. His current project sat in the middle of the room, a set of carefully measured lengths of wood that would eventually become a table. Today he would construct it and sand it down, carve in the details as requested, and then tomorrow he would varnish it, set it aside, and make a start on the next project. Rinse and repeat. The shipping company he used would pick this up along with a couple other things later in the week.

It reminded him of working back on the farm in a lot of ways. Days alone out in the feilds, skipping school to tend to the animals as per his parents request. He missed the outdoor nature of it, the sun on his back while he moved hay bales, the long summer afternoons spent repairing the ramshackle barn his pappy had built with his own two hands nearly twenty years ago.

This was fine, though. He still got to do as he pleased, was in charge of his own schedule. It kept him busy. Focused. He lost himself to it, didn't bother keeping track of time while he was working, and eventually he had something worthwhile in front of him. He lifted the table, set it gently down in the corner ready for finishing tomorrow. Called that a day.

Scott left the garage, turning the light off and plunging it back into darkness. He wandered through the apartment and went to sit on his small patio that overlooked the communal grass around the building, lighting a cigarette. He noticed the sun was low in the sky and checked his phone.

5pm already. Well, he'd certainly filled another day at least. Now that his hands weren't busy anymore he found that he felt restless, agitated. Felt the urge to whittle something. He would go back inside soon, find his favourite carving knife.

He checked his phone, seeing as he hadn't looked at it since this morning. It was a busted up old thing- still new enough to be a touch screen, but cracked to all hell and back, words on the screen barely legible. He should really invest in a phone case, he thought as he went through his notifications. Email from a potential new client, email from the electric company, and a facebook message request.

The last one made him pause. Facebook message request from Michael. He doesn't know a Michael. He hated it when clients used his social media to contact him, he literally had a whole website specifically for that purpose. He opened the notification, wanting to see what kind of business this idiot was looking for.

Hi, I know it's probably weird but I just wanted to see how you were doing. Have you healed up okay? I don't feel great about fighting with you and we didn't get the chance to talk before you left. It's a shame, I know I got a little too drunk but I remember some of our conversation, and some of the stuff you said made me think that maybe you could use a friend? Or at least someone who will listen. I'm usually free if you wanted to chat.

A second message.

You don't have to reply to this if you hate me. 

And a third.

This was really stupid. Sorry. I won't bother you again.

Micheal. Fucking Mike. 

He clicked on the profile and scrolled through a couple of posts. The last update was a profile picture change in 2015, to a picture of him loitering somewhere in a city, making a peace sign and, in his opinion, looking like an idiot. The rest of the photos were older, all typical sappy couply pictures of him and Zoey.

Scott was... curious at best. What a weird message. It made him uncomfortable- Mike clearly didn't remember how their evening had ended, which was just as much a releif as it was so unbelievably frustrating. He'd have to carry that memory with him forever, making him flustered whever he thought about it, and stupid fucking Mike got to go on like it never even happened.

He hated him. Kind of. He hated this message, at least. Absolutely detested the notion that he could use a friend, as if he'd said anything that would warrant pity from Mike of all people, the most miserable fucking loser he knew. Hated the implication that Mike thought he'd appreciate him reaching out. But what he hated the most about it was the anxious, self-deprecating tone it ended on.

He thought about Mike sitting somewhere far away from here, fretting over whether to send that stupid message, over whether he'd get a reply. Thought about how he must have debated attempting to befriend Scott, how he surely must want something to do with him if he was willing to offer this incredibly awkward olive branch. He thought about the silly little fantasies he all too often let creep into his mind, about the way Mike had pushed his face up into his neck, both strangely comfortable and distinctly not.

He had to stop thinking like this. It occupied too much space in his head at the moment. Maybe if he gave into his curiosity it would just... go away.

///

Mike stared down at the four simple words on the screen

Hate texting. Calls only.

A phone number sat underneath.

It'd been over a week since the reunion and he hadn't felt any less embarrassed by his behaviour in front of his old cast mates. He'd gone into it with the intent of hiding what a mess he'd become, but it hadn't exactly worked out like that. 

He'd spent most of his time since going to job interviews, but had had little success. Any time not spent on the job hunt had been mostly him hiding in Cameron's guest room, curled up under the covers. He still cleaned and cooked daily, his little way of making up for his lack of rent money, but Cameron was a neat guy to begin with so Mike was mostly just cleaning up his own messes which, really, was the least he could do anyway.

It had been a long week. A long, fretful week of thinking about where his life went wrong and what he could do to change it. The solutions were obvious in his mind- find a job that can accommodate his disorder, then find his own place, then figure it out from there. He was just having some trouble accomplishing step one at the moment.

He kept thinking about his conversation with Scott. He hadn't opened up like that with anyone, the snippets of real talking they did between arguing. Not since Zoey. He had at one point spoken to Cameron about his woes directly after the break up, but his best friend just wasn't someone for conversations about big feelings, and his lack of experience in the dating world meant he didn't have much advice to offer. No, Cameron was a friend who helped him in practical real-world ways, like keeping a roof over his head. He'd be eternally greatful for all the help he had received, but part of him needed more than that.

Scott had dating experience, and from what he'd said ten days prior it hadn't been any better than Mike's own. Worse, in fact. All the talk about never dating again, about dying alone, his messy attempts to make Mike feel better about his own chances- It had been surprising, kind of endearing, and made him think that maybe they had more in common than previously thought.

For such a standoffish kind of guy, Scott was pretty good at cheering him up, in his own strange, misguided way. That chat had really been the highlight of the event for Mike, and despite the animosity between them, he wanted to do it again.

He thought about the end of it, just before he'd blacked out. It'd be a shame to ruin a face like that. The memory of the words, the unusual softness in Scott's eyes as he said it, made him feel... squirmy. He remembered making fun of him for saying it, remembered the redhead pushing him to the ground for the second time that evening, and then nothing after that. 

He assumed he'd hit his head and passed out. For all the nice things Scott had said to him that night, he'd still left him to sleep out in the elements. Waking up in somebody else's garden had been a real trip- The only times that'd happened before, he'd found out later that one of his alters had taken over and left him in that position. This was different- his own fault. God, he really had to get a handle on his drinking. It was getting embarrassing.

Mike felt like most things he did these days were fairly embarrassing. It was pretty much a constant state of being for him. So it wasn't too hard to swallow the fact that he desperately wanted to talk to Scott again, wanted to commiserate with him, wanted to feel like he wasn't drowning alone.

So he'd sent that stupid message. He'd found him on facebook, had actually had to google the cast of Total Drama, realising he didn't know the others last name. The only profile he found that could possibly be his Scott had no photos at all- only a couple of mutual friends confirmed that it was him.

He'd sent his message in the mid morning and waited. No reply. Sent another. By the time afternoon had rolled around the whole thing felt stupid, leaving him wanting to crawl into bed and never come out again. Of course Scott wouldn't want to talk to him- Even if they'd gotten along for a minuite there, it ended with a shove to the ground, and the redhead had all but ran away from him the morning after. He'd sent the third message, resigned to rejection.

So now, curled up under his covers on a warm September evening, he stared at those four little words, heart thumping in his chest. Scott wanted him to call? Should he call him now? Its not like he was doing anything else.

He bit his lip. On a whim, he pressed the highlighted blue phone number on the screen, and the phone started ringing. He panicked. What was he doing? This was weird, he was weird. Before he could hang up, he got an answer.

"Hello?" came a nasally voice through the speaker. Mike cringed as put the receiver to his ear.

"Scott?" he said tentatively.

"Wow, that was so quick I didn't even think it would be you. Desperate, much?"

Mike sat up in his bed "I'm not desperate!" he defended "You sent me your number, I thought that meant you wanted to talk."

"Well, I don't." Scott said simply "And in regards to your message- I've healed up just fine, I don't need a friend, and if you thought I'd want to shoot the shit with you, you're fucking delusional."

"Why'd you give me your number then?" Mike demanded, exasperated.

"So I can call you stupid and pathetic to your face."

"You haven't even done that."

"Do I need to?"

"God, you're insufferable. I knew this was a bad idea." He rubbed his forehead "I'm just gonna hang up."

"Hey, wait," a pause. Mike waited. The silence stretched on for far longer than was comfortable, and then,

"How... are you?" 

He couldn't help it. He started laughing, a full body thing that had him doubled over, face by his knees "What's so fucking funny?" came the irritated voice through the phone.

"Nothing, nothing," he said, trying to choke down his laughter "I'm, I'm good, kinda, I dunno." he straightened up, grin not leaving his face "What have you been up to?"

"Working." Scott responded, tone gruff.

"Yeah? What do you do?" Mike asked, genuinely curious.

"I uh, I make like, tables and stuff." he replied "Woodworking."

"Oh, so, like a carpenter?" 

"Kinda."

"That's pretty cool." Mike said blandly. He didn't know much about that kind of thing.

"Hardly. I like it, though." he thought for a second "What do you do?"

Mike paused, not really wanting to answer, but it was just Scott. He may as well be honest.

"I'm in between jobs right now."

"Wow, lame." Mike could practically hear him rolling his eyes "What, like, in between gigs? Aren't you some kind of actor or whatever?" 

"Actor?" Mike balked "Where did you get that from?"

"You used to say you were. When we were on the show." Scott said, confused.

"Oh, I-" Mike stalled, trying to think of how to explain that one "That was sorta just. A cover up. For my... y'know. Multiple personalities."

Silence on the line "So you're not an actor?"

"No."

"Then what do you do?"

Mike sighed "I already told you. I'm between jobs right now." he fiddled with a loose thread on the bedsheet "Mostly looking at retail stuff, just whatever I can get, really, so I can move out of here."

"Retail? God, you suck so bad."

"What's wrong with retail?" Mike frowned.

"Because it's so- that's so boring." Scott insisted, raising his voice "And I thought I was boring. You're supposed to be out there doing something cool. You've got all these weird skills, like gymnastics or whatever. You should be an athlete, or a treasure hunter, or just go for the acting thing. Like, you've got the looks for it. But retail? What a waste."

This was... exactly what he'd wanted out of talking to Scott. He felt warm in a way his heavy blankets could never provide "You really think so?" he asked softly, smiling to himself.

Scott paused, and grumbled down the line "Yeah. I guess. Whatever."

Mike sighed "Maybe I should. But I never really wanted to do any of that stuff."

"What do you want to do, then?"

He bit his lip, thinking "I- It's stupid, but I always wanted to study psychology. I've spent a lot of time with psychologists, for obvious reasons, and done plenty of independent reseach on my own disorder and others. It's fascinating. I could spend the rest of my life just reading about it all. But, what I really want to do, is help people." he paused "Like my doctors helped me."

"That's not stupid. Pretty gay, but not stupid." Scott told him, shrugging "You should go to school for it."

"I can't." Mike frowned.

"Why not?"

"I can't afford to do that right now" he replied, agitated.

"Just get a loan. You could pay it off easy, head doctors make bank."

"I can't exactly get a loan when I don't have a fixed adress now, can I? Besides, what'll I do? Just keep mooching off Cameron for another three years while I go to school? I don't think so." Mike found himself raising his voice, and then backtracked "Sorry, I- It's a sensitive subject. For me."

"Fine, whatever. Not like I care anyway, you oversensitive jerk." Mike could hear him walking around in the background "I'm hanging up. I gotta go to bed."

"Bed?" Mike asked, incredulous "It's not even eight o'clock."

"That's when I like to go to bed." 

"I didn't know you were such an old man. You really are boring."

"Yeah, yeah, bite me." he grouched "Look, you suck, but I might call you back if you're lucky. Happy nine eleven, either way."

Mike balked "Happy nine eleven? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I wished you a happy nine eleven."

"That's not a public holiday, Scott, it's a national tragedy."

"Is it our national tragedy?"

"No?"

"So what do you care?"

"You don't just wish people a happy nine eleven! That's not something people do!" Mike ended up shouting into the receiver, incredibly frustrated.

"God, you're so sensitive."

"And you're a dick."

"Right back atcha. I'm going now. Bye."

"I-" Mike began but was cut off by the dial tone "Asshole." He said to the air in front of him. He had no idea why he had wanted to talk to Scott so bad. He was rude, insensitive, didn't have any good advice about anything and always had to have the last word.

Why did he feel better?

Chapter Text

20th October, 2017, 7:05pm

At some point Mike had found himself in a new routine. Well, it wasn't all that different from his old one, except now he had a phone call to look forward to in the evenings. He tried not to agonise over the fact he looked forward to getting his ass chewed out over everything and nothing, that he spent far too much time in his day coming up with new petty insults, comebacks for things he should have said weeks ago. It was fine. It was fine because he liked what he had going on- it was his weird little secret. He was just enjoying himself.

Mike had learned after a while that Scott didn't pick up or call at all during the day and sometimes not in the evening either, so around 6pm Mike usually found himself checking his phone every five minutes. If he hadn't heard anything by seven, he'd make the call. He was embarrassed to admit the dissapointment that he felt whenever it went to voicemail. Not that it happened too often. Scott seemed to be just as invested in their daily argument as he was.

Today his attempt had been successful "It's not like I'm living the dream or anything," he said, stirring a pot of pasta sauce on the stove "But it's better than what I usually get. Nobody's really bothered by me, either. My manager already met Vito, and she totally didn't care, just put him to work moving boxes." he laughed "It's real nice to be in a work enviroment where everyones aware of my condition. Some of the guys there are super curious too, they keep asking when they'll get to meet the whole gang."

"Well I'm glad this warehouse gig is working out for you." Scott replied casually "Still a total waste, in my opinion"

"Yeah, well, I've got to start somewhere, dont I? And this job is long term. It'll take a while to save up to move out, but at least I'll be able to buy Cameron a Christmas present this year." he sighed "I owe him a lot."

Scott sniffed "You'll be doing Christmas with Cameron, then?"

"Well, kinda." Mike started, turning down the heat on the pan "We're having Christmas eve together, seeing as I live here and all, and it'll be like a mini celebration where we watch movies and stuff." he moved across the kitchen to the sink, where he began to fill a large pot with water "But he's doing Christmas day with just his mom. They have all these goofy traditions together, I'd hate to intrude on that too, after all he's done for me. So, he'll go next door and spend the day with her, and I guess I'll just hang out by myself." he shrugged.

"Cameron's mom lives next door to you?" Scott enquired, curious.

"Yeah, he bought him and her matching condos."

"That's super weird."

"Hey, leave them alone, man. It makes them happy. It's nice that they're so close."

Scott grunted "Sure, I guess. Still weird but whatever." he trailed off, thinking "If you're just going to sit by yourself all Christmas, why don't you go see your family or something? Do they live far away?"

Mike paused, staring into space. There were a million reasons he wasn't going to see his family at Christmas, none of which he wanted to explain to Scott. 

"Mike?" 

He snapped out of his trance "Fuck." he muttered, realising the pot had overfilled, spilling water onto the counter. He set it down and got some paper towels, tucking the phone into the crook of his neck as he mopped up the spillage.

"Uh, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered as he cleaned "Just multitasking."

"Doing what?"

"Making dinner." he sighed "Mostly making a mess at this point, to be honest."

Scott snorted down the line "I didn't know you could cook. What are you making?"

"Spaghetti."

"Typical."

"Why is that typical?"

"I thought you were like, Italian or something?"

"Well, yeah," he started, moving his now correctly filled pot of water over to the stove "But I was born here in Canada. My parents moved here from Italy, like, years before I was even a passing thought."

"Huh. So I'll ask again, why don't you go spend Christmas with your big sterotypical Italian family? You can all stand around and make spaghetti together, since that's what you people do."

"You people?" he balked, unsure if he was offended or not "Okay, first off, I don't have a big stereotypical family. I'm an only child. Second, never in my life have I heard a you people about Italians."

"Why are you getting all snippy?" Scott countered "I didn't say anything bad about Italians."

"Maybe I just don't like that you're sterotyping me. I've already got an alter for that sterotype, and I'm nothing like him. Like, sure," he ranted, setting the burner to high "I make spaghetti on a weeknight because it's a recipe I grew up with, and I like it, but I'm pretty sure thats also the same for ninety nine percent of the population, so it has nothing to do with whether I'm Italian or not."

"You sure about that? I never had spaghetti growing up."

"What?" he asked, blindsided "How have you never had spaghetti?"

"I didn't say I never had spaghetti." Scott explained, condescending "I've eaten it before. It's just not something we had back home on the farm. I tried it, like, a couple years ago. It was alright."

Mike added salt to the slowly boiling water "Where the hell are you from that you never ate spaghetti of all things?"

"Bumfuck nowhere, southern Alberta. There were, like, three restaurants in a twenty mile radius, and one of them was a Tim Hortons."

"Timmies isn't a restaurant."

"It is where I'm from."

"God, that's so sad." Mike sighed "Like, this is a first world country. I didn't realise there were still places so deprived of any culture."

"I wasnt deprived of anything." Scott snapped, defensive "Where the fuck are you from then, mister culture expert?"

"Quebec City, originally."

"So you're French, too?"

"No," he frowned "Still just Italian. Although I do speak more French than I have a use for these days."

"You sure do a lot of moving around, it sounds annoying as shit. Outside of doing the stupid show I've never really left Alberta." he trailed off, then asked "Do your parents still live in Quebec?"

Mike stalled, fiddling with a packet of pasta "I- I don't actually know. Why do you keep asking about my family, anyways?"

"What do you mean you dont know?" Scott demanded "And maybe I'd be less interested if you weren't so weird and defensive about it. Like, Quebec isn't all that far from where you are now, it wouldn't be unreasonable to make the trip for the holidays. So, tell me, Mike, why don't you?"

Mike snapped the pack of spaghetti clean in half in his hand, the now broken noodles all falling into the bottom of the bag "Scott," he warned "What do you know about dissasociative identity disorder?"

"Uh," he replied, lost "Pretty much just that you have it. Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well it's very common, in people with my condition, to invent new personalities based on, uh," he paused, looking at the floor "Traumatic experiences. And we're not talking getting left at the mall because your parents forgot you were with them kind of trauma, I'm talking about stuff I'm not willing to share outside of a therapists office. I have a whole laundry list of reasons not to talk to my parents, and absolutely none of them are your business."

Silence on the line. Mike thinks he probably overshared- that was more than he told most people, and he hadn't actually disclosed any details at all. He hated talking about his childhood. He wished Scott had just left it alone, but no, he'd gone and pushed and got his answer, and somehow Mike was the one left feeling like he'd made the other uncomfortable. He felt numb. He was about to just hang up, when-

"I'm sorry." Scott said, voice soft "I didn't mean to, um... It sounds like your parents suck."

Mike couldnt help the short bark of a laugh that escaped him "Understatement of the year." he muttered

"I get the picture. I'll leave it alone. Promise." he sounded sheepish. That was the first time he'd ever gotten a real apology out of him, and he hadn't even needed one. It was a weird experience, kind of endearing "I know it's not the same thing, like, at all, but if it makes you feel any better I don't talk to my parents either."

"No?" Mike asked gently, tipping his broken pasta into the boiling water.

"No." Scott sounded sad "I was actually asking, about your family I mean, because I'm not going home this year either. It'll be the first time I spend the holidays alone."

"What, your parents suck, too?" 

"Not... not really. Not like I think yours do. They're good people, generally." he tutted "They were good to me growing up, at least."

"So... you wanna tell me what happened?" Mike enquired, curious.

"You want the full story? Cause I can pretty much just say 'homophobic rednecks' and it paints the same picture."

"Give me the whole story. I'm kinda interested in where you came from, honestly."

"It's really not that interesting."

"I don't care. Just vent about your homophobic family, it's fine."

He stalled for a minuite, thinking about how to start "Well, I- I never really dated growing up. For obvious reasons. There aren't really any guys who like guys where I'm from. So the second I could I moved to the city to, y'know... experiment, I guess?" he said awkwardly, fumbling over his words "And I'd go home for all the big holidays, and it'd always be 'Scotty, when are you gonna bring home a nice girl?' or 'When are you gonna settle down and give us some grandkids?' and I just, I just got so sick of it, you know? Living this lie, making excuses all the time."

"So you told them?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, I- I told them. Hadn't really planned to, though. Back in the summer, before Sam and Dakota's party, I went to this- we have this big family reunion every first of July,"

"For Canada day?"

"Yeah, for Canada day. Real patriotic crowd. But anyway, I was there like usual, and my Ma was really getting on my ass for still being single, cause my cousin just got engaged and I'm an embarassment or whatever." Mike heard the sound of a lighter flicking down the line "And I said to her, Ma, I won't ever be bringing a girl home. Maybe a guy, if youre lucky."

A pause "And... how did she react to that?" Mike asked cautiously.

"Oh, y'know, totally in denial at first, then came the screaming and crying. Went and told my pappy, too. Old man disowned me in front of half the clan."

"Ouch. That's... really uncool."

"You're telling me. I drove home after the whole shouting match was over. Haven't heard a word from anyone since."

"Hmm." he contemplated "Do you think you'd want to? After they treated you like that?"

"...Maybe." came the short reply "It won't happen, though. Don't know what I expected, really, running my mouth like that."

"I- wow." Mike said, pouring spaghetti through a strainer "I'm sorry that happened to you. Are you, like, gonna be okay?"

"Definitely." he affirmed "I don't need them. I don't need anybody. I got my life sorted out without their input- if I was that dependent I would have just stayed working on the farm forever."

"Well I'm glad you're doing alright, despite everything." he paused, and watched the steam rise from the sink "Hey, Scott?"

"Hm?"

"Are we friends?"

"No."

"Yeah," Mike sighed "That's what I thought."

"Thanks for listening to me, though." the soft words surprised him enough that he nearly dropped the phone "I haven't told that story to... anybody, really."

"N- No problem." he said awkwardly, a funny sort of warmth creeping up on him "Anytime."

They trailed off into comfortable silence, and Mike finished putting his dinner together.

"I'm gonna go eat now, Cam's been studying for hours, I wanna make sure he's been fed."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever. Guess I gotta go to bed anyways." came the surly reply.

"Oh, don't be like that. I'll call you tomorrow, if you like?"

"Why would I like that?"

Mike rolled his eyes "Because we're 
friends, Scott, whether you think so or otherwise."

"Fuck off."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll talk to you later." 

Scott hung up on him. He just stared at his phone, incredulous. How could anyone share an experience like that, talk about the kind of things they do, and still be so ungodly rude? It was infuriating.

Mike put a couple of bowls together, thinking. It was one thing for Scott to be an asshole, but that was just how he was. Mike was the one who chose to subject himself to it. Maybe he had a bit of a soft spot for the guy. He was clearly hurting, in some kind of way, and Mike had gotten in too deep at this point to just walk away from it. Maybe he genuinely thought he could help.

That thought gave him pause. Why did he want to help Scott? Was it just because he'd decided to open up to him? Something about the guy must have charmed him, because their phone calls had honestly become the highlight of his day.

Charmed him. What a joke. Scott was the least charming person he had ever met. And yet, he still caught himself thinking about red hair and cold grey eyes, about the odd compliments thrown his way. The number of times Scott had implied he was good looking was getting out of hand. Sometimes he was almost certain he was being flirted with, would probably beleive Scott liked him if he didn't spend half their conversations clearly stating otherwise.

And maybe that's why he kept putting himself through this. All the arguing and insults were more than worth putting up with for those little moments where Scott was genuinely nice to him. That's what he wanted, more than anything, really. To have this person who wasn't nice to anyone at all, choose to be nice to him.

He was fully aware of how unhealthy that was. How desperately he craved positive attention- and not just from anyone. It had to be Scott, or it just wasn't the same. He'd somehow become special to Mike, his opionion holding more weight in his heart than anyone else he knew. Even if that opinion was often skewed, or downright offensive. He just really liked the guy. Like, liked him.

He nearly dropped his pasta.

No.

The revelation struck him like a hammer to the back of the head "Shit." he muttered to himself. He liked Scott. What a stupid, dangerous, awful thing to happen to him.

The thought made him sweat. What was he supposed to do with this information? It's not like they were going to suddenly be boyfriends or anything. Scott didn't even think of him as a friend, although he had reason to beleive that wasn't true.

He'd figure it out. It's not like he was going to see him anytime soon, he was all the way over in Calgary for goodness sake.

He sighed, resigned to working through his feelings, whatever the hell they were, and went to go have dinner.

///

3rd November, 2017, 7:32pm

"When's your birthday?"

Mike sat cross legged on his bed, lanky frame hunched over a notebook, pen in hand. The phone sat next to him, Scott on speaker.

"Febuary. Why?" 

He rolled his eyes "What do you mean why?"

"I mean why do you wanna know?"

"God, are you really gonna get weird about telling me your birthday? Or is that line of conversation too personal for you, mister I'm gonna die alone."

"Fine. Fuck, you're so needy."

"I-" Mike steeled himself, took a breath, let that one go "Whatever. Are you gonna tell me what day in Febuary, or...?"

"The first. Are you stalking me or something?"

Mike shot the phone a dirty look, wished Scott was here in person so that he could slap him "Stalking you? In what way would I possibly be stalking you? This is, like, the most basic question ever. Thanks for answering, by the way, what an absolute treat it is to get that little bit of information out of you." he said, dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh fuck off. You still haven't told me why you wanna know."

"I'm doing your astrology chart." he admitted, feeling a little silly.

"Oh no, don't tell me you're into all that crap." he moaned "That's so stupid. You're definitely stalking me."

"Okay first off, I'm not stalking you. You're willingly giving me this information."

"I wouldn't say willingly."

"Uh huh. And second, it's fun and I like it, so you can take your sourpuss attitude and shove it up your ass. Now tell me what time of day you were born."

"Why would I know that?"

"Do you not?"

"No."

"Oh." he paused, chewed on the end of his pen "Then that makes this a lot less fun. Whatever. The good news is, you're an aquarius."

"Mike." he started, sounding irritated "As much as all this stuff is total bullshit, I do already know that. And why, pray tell, would that be good news?"

"Because I thought you'd be a scorpio, and that wouldn't really work for me."

"Wouldn't work for you." he repeated, then paused "God, are you actually checking our star sign compatibility? That's so gay."

"Um." he stalled, feeling caught out. Whatever, it wasn't like his relationship with Scott could get any weirder than it already was "Okay, you're gay, so stop saying that like it's an insult. And I do this with everyone, so shut up."

"Uh huh, sure. You're obsessed with me."

"Excuse me?" he balked, stared at the phone like it had bit him. It may as well have "I'm not obsessed with you. I just like knowing peoples star signs, okay? You wish I was that interested in you. You're so scorpio coded, I'd bet money you're a scorpio rising."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"It means you're a huge bitch. That's what it means."

"Ooh, wow, burning me with your superior star sign knowledge. I'm so hurt. Don't know how I'll ever recover from that one."

"Oh go fuck yourself. Actually, I take it back, aquarius suits you just fine. You're weird and offputting, you have zero social skills, and you act like you're better than everyone else when you're not."

"Yeah, and you're the creep that's obsessed with me."

Mike grabbed the phone off the bed, took him off speaker and held it to his ear "I am going to find out where you live, and then I'm gonna come to your house and kill you in your sleep."

"Only proving my point, really."

He bit his knuckles, silently screamed into his fist. He wracked his brain for a comeback to that one, but Scott beat him to it.

"I bet you're a leo, because you're so fucking annoying."

"I thought you didn't beleive in star signs." he countered, somewhat defeated "And also, you're wrong."

"I don't. What's yours, then? Are we compatible, Mike? Do the stars say we're gonna get married?" he mocked, taking on a high pitched voice like an old-timey damsel.

He couldn't help but snort at that, blushing furiously at the implication "Not telling." he said, grinning into the receiver "You have to guess."

"No. That's fucking stupid. I'm not gonna waste my time sitting here guessing at something I don't care about."

"Humour me." he flopped back onto the matress, cradled the phone to his ear like a schoolgirl with a crush.

"Fine. Um," he thought for a moment, trying to remember anything about this nonsense "Cancer, cause you're a moody bitch."

"Wrong. You don't have to insult me when you guess, y'know."

"I know. Pisces, then, because you're so fucking oversensitive."

"Wrong again. And I'm not oversensitive," he complained "You're just rude."

"And you're annoying. Forget this, I don't give a shit about your stupid star sign. They're never true anyway- the people who write horoscopes do nothing but list generic personality traits, and saps like you just eat it up."

"That's such an aquarius thing to say."

"Oh go fuck yourself. I'm bored of this now, I'm hanging up."

"Hey, wait," he stalled "Don't you wanna know mine?"

"Not really."

"I'm a sagittarius."

"I don't care."

"God, you're insufferable. I don't know why I keep talking to you."

"Don't talk to me then. Later, loser, see you never."

He rolled his eyes, dialtone ringing too loud in his ear. The first time Scott had threatened to never speak to him again had made him anxious, but by now it was basically a normal way for them to say goodbye. Whatever, he'd come crawling back tomorrow. 

Mike turned to curl up on his side, opened a new tab on his phone. Felt practically giddy as he researched their star sign compatibility, far too pleased with the results. An aquarius. How charming.

God, he had it bad.

Chapter Text

25th November 2017, 8:03pm

He'd called Mike on a rainy Sunday evening. Scott was huffing a cigarette out of his bedroom window, avoiding having to stand out in the downpour. He'd kept thinking about building a lean-to by the patio door, but hadn't managed to get round to it yet. He had other things he wanted to do, like pester some idiot he definitely didn't like at all. Nope. Not one bit.

Okay, he liked him. Was that such a crime? He reckons Dawn would think so, maybe puts too much stock into what she thinks. She can't know everything. Nobody does.

They'd been talking for months now, nearly every day in fact, ever since Scott had decided to grace him with the privilege of his phone number. They would sit and shoot the shit together for hours. It was the highlight of his day. Mike was a fucking loser who bickered with him like they'd been there, done that, divorced already- He couldn't get enough of it. He had the worlds stupidest most embarassing god damn crush on the guy,  to the point that in his head this was essentially a long distance relationship. Mike just didn't know that yet.

And hopefully he would never know that. And that's okay. Someday Mike would get bored of petty arguments, stop returning his calls, stop acting like he was so god damn sweet on him, and Scott would get over it. He'd be fine. He'd find someone else to fantasise about, put whatever this fascination was behind them and move on, maybe remember it bitterly next time the whole cast got together, if they both decided to go. Maybe kick his teeth in for good measure if he got the chance.

But for now, he was going to enjoy himself. 

"Hey, Scott." he'd answered, some film score playing in the background.

"Hi yourself." he said blandly, purposely casual, as per usual "I'm so fucking bored. What are you up to?"

"Rewatching that X Men movie- you seen it?" he could hear the other man eating popcorn through the phone. He wasn't sure why that was so endearing, but he found himself grinning anyway.

"Nah," he said, flicked some ash out the window "I'm not really into all that comic book stuff."

"Oh, dude," Mike started, suddenly enthused "You should totally watch it anyway, it's great. I'd make any bet you'd be super into Wolverine."

He snorted "And why would you think that?"

"I dunno," he could practically hear him shrugging "Just kinda assumed that's your type."

"My type?" he repeated, feeling mischievous "What's got you thinking about my type, Mike?"

"N-nothing." he stuttered. Scott could hear him shuffling around in the background "I don't know, maybe I'm projecting. Maybe I've got a thing for Hugh Jackman."

"What, like a thing thing? A little man crush?"

"Can you blame me? He's fucking hot."

"Eh, he's alright."

"Just alright? Dude, you have no idea what you're talking about." he insisted, thought for a second, took on a nervous, airy tone as if he was trying to keep things light "What is your type, then? If you don't mind me asking."

"Why the fuck would you wanna know?"

"I just- God, I don't know, I've just never seen you go for anyone. I've never even known you to like anyone, I'm just curious, is all."

"Not that it's any of your business, but I don't have a type."

"Bullshit."

"Why is that bullshit?"

"Are you seriously telling me when you watch movies you don't crush on actors? Cause that sounds impossible. What's the point in even watching then?"

"Joke's on you, I don't watch movies."

"What do you mean you don't watch movies? That's even more bullshit."

"I mean I don't sit around staring at a screen all day. It's bad for you, you know."

"Bad for you my ass. Like shut the fuck up, bad for you. You don't get to have an opinion on what's bad for you, Scott, you smoke."

Scott flicked his cigarette butt out the window, immediately lit another one, clicking his lighter right next to the receiver just to make a point "Fucking and?"

"Oh for the love of- whatever. Smoke your fucking heart out, I don't care. Just tell me some actors you wanna bang."

"God are we still on that? You're being weird about this, Mike."

"I'm not being weird, you're just avoiding the question. You're being weird."

"Oh fuck off. I'm not giving you free ammunition to make fun of me."

"It's not about that."

"What's it about, then?"

"I dunno, I just-" he groaned, sounded defeated "What if I went first?"

He paused at that. A fair trade was a fair trade, and he'd have to be delusional to pretend he wasn't deathly curious about Mikes apparent attraction to men. He'd had his suspicions, thought it was a little obvious after that drunken not-kiss at the reunion, but this was the first time he'd had it confirmed. Scott had to temper his excitement, not get too ahead of himself lest he go and do something stupid like, god forbid, get his hopes up. 

"Sure." he kept his tone light "I'll bite. Who's your main guy, then?"

"Oh. That was, um, surprisingly easy."

"Maybe I'm curious, too."

"Okay. Alright." Mike sounded maybe a little too pleased "So, um. Brad Pitt."

"The imaginary guy from Fight Club?"

"Yeah. I actually have some, uh, really specific Fight Club fantasies."

Scott could not believe where this line of conversation was going. Was it hot in here? He laid back on the bed, mind racing "Do tell."

"No way. And it's your turn."

"Oh come on, you can't do that." he whined "You can't just say something like that and not elaborate."

"Dude, it's like, none of your business. Why would you wanna hear about that anyway?"

"I don't know." he snapped "Probably for the same reasons you're so obsessed with who I wanna bang."

"I'm not obsessed. Stop saying that." he demanded "And I told you mine, so just spit it out already."

"God, fine." he ran his tongue over his teeth "Clint Eastwood."

"Old or young?"

"Either."

"Gross."

"Says you. Gross. You wanna fuck the imaginary Fight Club guy."

"And I bet you had your gay awakening watching shitty late night cowboy flicks."

"So what if I did?" he defended "I'm a modern day cowboy. It's kind of a thing for me."

Mike laughed at him "A modern day cowboy? God that's lame. You ever watched brokeback mountain?"

"Shut up. You're stupid, and ignorant, and you don't know anything about cowboy culture."

"Cowboy culture." he repeated, disbelieving "Jesus christ do you even hear yourself talk?"

"Go fuck yourself." he snapped "Actually, no, go fuck Brad Pitt."

"God I wish. Would beat sitting here listening to you talk about cowboy culture, whatever the fuck that even is."

"You're a bitch." he snapped, far too worked up over something so innocuous "You're a know-nothing know-it-all bitch who grew up in the city, and you think you're so fucking clever, and better than me, when you're not. You can't even keep a roof over your own god damn head."

"...Okay, wow, totally uncalled for. Why would you even go there?"

"Cause you suck. You're a self-conceited useless fucking city boy. You're so lucky it doesn't put me off."

"I-" he paused, uncertain, but went for it anyway "...What do you mean, put you off?"

The tension was so thick he could taste it. Okay, maybe that was a stupid thing to say, offhand or not. Didn't matter. It had happened now, and Mike had picked up on it instantly.

But maybe it wasn't that stupid. This particular conversation was only going in one direction, and it was a direction that had Scott beleiving that maybe Mike wasn't as out of reach as he may have once thought. The guy just kept on calling him, after all. Maybe even liked him a little.

Scott ran a finger over the scar on his collarbone. Why would anybody like him? Sure, he'd had a few flings in his time, people actually in his league, who weren't all that put off by his face. His personality seemed to be the real killer there. But Mike was... admittedly out of his league. Mike was pretty. He was tall and handsome, friendly, had a decent sense of humour. Oversensitive, sure, and super fucking crazy, but still a step up from what Scott would usually consider going for.

It made him nervous, and he wasn't the type to get nervous, not about anyone or anything. Stupid Mike and his stupid nice face. 

"Scott?" the gentle voice came from the speaker. Shit. He'd been too quiet for too long, lost in his thoughts. His first instinct was to rip Mike a new one, for even daring to think that that statement might have meant something, but in reality it was a little too obvious what he'd meant. Getting defensive now would just sink him further into this hole.

He cleared his throat. Oh well, no harm in putting it out there "You're an idiot." he stated, snarky, trying to keep cool about the whole thing "But, like, you're still hot."

Silence on the line. Scott was thankful nobody was here to see how red his face had gotten. Oh, god, why did he say it? He just felt so stupid-

"You think so?" came the breathless reply.

"I- yeah." he said dumbly. 

"Well, I-" Mike coughed, then chuckled nervously "You're not so bad yourself, really."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Scott stared at the pouring rain. Not so bad, was he? Maybe Mike was just crazy enough to be able to look past his face. Maybe he was desperate enough to withstand his personality, too. May as well take his shot "So, what, would you like, wanna bone sometime, or-?"

A startled noise "Scott." he sounded strangled "Don't- don't ask me that."

The redhead cackled into the receiver "Oh, you totally do." he grinned, blush staying firmly in place "You're so obvious."

"I'm not obvious."

"Yeah you are." he rolled onto his back, feeling like he'd won something "You're so into me it's embarrassing."

"Who wouldn't find that embarrassing." Mike snapped, defensive "You're the worst. Nobody in their right mind would want to sleep with you."

"Makes sense, seeing as you're a literal crazy person."

"I don't- I, god, just stop."

"Just admit it, you goon." he teased "You basically already did. Just wait till I tell you what you did at the reunion, right before your stupid drunk ass passed out."

"What... oh, god, what did I do?" he sounded distressed.

"Hmm." Scott put his feet up on the end of the bed, enjoying himself "I'm not telling."

"Don't- Don't do that. Come on." Mike pleaded "If I did something stupid I need to know about it. Are you sure it was even me? It could have been one of my alters."

"No, definitely you. Your voice was the same."

"So what did I do?" he asked again, exasperated.

"Like I said, I'm not telling." Scott grinned at the frustrated noise on the other side of the phone, could picture Mike biting at his knuckes, decided to take pity on him "Fine, fine. You totally tried to kiss me."

"I- I did what?" Mike startled, mortified "And you just...didn't say anything?"

"I thought it was a fluke." he countered "You were wasted, Mike. You didn't even remember doing it- Why would I bring that up?"

"But, I just... You still wanted to talk to me? After that?"

Scott shrugged, even though he couldn't see "I, uh..." he trailed off, blush returning at full force "Maybe I liked the attention."

"Oh."

"Oh, what?"

"So... you would maybe, want me to do it again?"

"Where'd you get that idea?"

Mike sighed, sounding exhausted "You're the one who asked if I wanted to bone sometime."

"So, do you?"

"I- oh, screw it." Mike said, and Scott grinned. Oh, he'd won alright "Yeah. Sure. What have I got to lose?"

"Your last shred of dignity." he teased, and Mike laughed.

"You're making this sound like a bad idea."

"It's definitely a bad idea. You have no clue what you're in for."

"Oh god, are you into some super weird shit or-?"

"Eh, nothing unusual." he lit another cigarette, grinning around the end of it "Don't worry about it." 

"...Youre actively making me worry about it."

"You just love to overthink things, dont you?"

"Oh shut up. I just- what is this? Like, is this a, um, a friends with benefits type situation now?"

"Something like that." he stretched out on the bed, far too pleased with himself "Except we're not friends, and I hate you."

"Funny." he deadpanned "You're so fucking funny, did you know that?"

Scott cackled, in complete agreement with that statement despite the obvious sarcasm "You say that like I was joking." he teased, enjoyed the frustrated noise he got out of him "Anyway. I'm going to bed now."

"What?" he startled, disbelieving "And just leave me here, after all that?"

"You expect me to stay on the phone all night?"

"No, but," Mike stalled "I'm still- I feel like there's so much more to talk about. I never really know where I stand with you, it's so confusing, and now we're making plans to, what, hook up? It's just, It's kind of weird, y'know?"

"Eh," he said, smiling into the receiver "Gives you something to think about."

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'll be thinking about it."

"...Yeah?"

"Yeah." he replied as he kicked off his jeans, pulling himself under the covers "Goodnight, Mike."

"O-okay. Um, goodnight."

He hung up, setting his phone on the night stand, couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face. Maybe his fantasies weren't so far off base. Maybe they could even be a little more than that.

///

13th December, 2017, 8:05pm

"Can't you just do it? For me?" Mike asked, already frustrated. 

"No."

"But it's my birthday!"

Scott paused "It is? You never told me."

"I told you I was a sagittarius."

"Oh god not this again. You say one more stupid thing about fucking star signs and I'm hanging up on you." Mike couldn't help but giggle at the others irritation "Why do you want a picture of me, anyway?"

"Cause it's been a while since the reunion and I'm starting to forget your face. You don't have any on facebook either, which is like, super weird by the way." he explained, bouncing a knee as he perched on the edge of the couch. His smile turned into something malicious as he continued "And I need a reminder that I'm just that much better looking than you."

"Um. Wow, rude." he snapped "And creepy. Why would you wanna look at my busted up face anyway, you fucking weirdo? What's your angle?"

"My angle? Exactly what I just said."

"Is this some weird roundabout way of asking me for a dick pic?"

"What? No!" he recoiled from the phone, blushing furiously "I never said that, where are you getting that?"

"That's obviously what you meant. Not that I'd send you one."

"It's not. And good, cause that's, that's so-" he cut himself off, rubbed a hand over his face, groaned into the receiver.

"Not unless you sent one first."

"Scott." he spat his name like it was something unpleasant "Again, that is not what I said. Are really not gonna do this for me? It's just taking a selfie."

"Selfies are stupid." Scott declared, leaving no room for argument "And what does it matter? You're gonna see me in a couple weeks anyway."

Mike grinned at that. They were, in fact, going to see each other at the end of the month. Scott had decided he wanted to spend this Christmas alone, as a rite of passage of sorts, and Mike wasn't going to push to spend the holiday together. It'd be a little too weird, anyway. Instead, he would be flying over to Calgary just before the new year. It made sense for him to do the travelling, seeing as Scott had his own place and all, and there was no way he was bringing guests over to Cameron's apartment. Especially a guest like Scott.

"Yeah, I know." Mike said softly "I just wanted a dumb photo. It'd give me something to look forward to."

"Yep, definitely angling for a dick pic." he could hear the smug fucking grin in his voice "You're so obsessed with me."

"Oh go fuck yourself." he snapped "You know full well you're talking shit, I just wanted a picture of your ugly-ass face. Like, it's my birthday, for fucks sake, I'm not asking for a lot here."

"Birthdays are stupid."

"Jesus fucking- is everything stupid to you? Do you even get any joy out of life? Or do you just go around being hateful twenty-four-seven? God, you are such an asshole."

"I'm an asshole? You just called me ugly, like, at least twice. Is that a thing for you, Mike?"

"What? Why would that be a- Actually, no. Not even gonna ask. I don't wanna hear this shit."

"If you don't wanna hear it then just hang up on me."

"Maybe I will!"

"Good! I'm going to bed anyway."

"Fine! Don't forget to send the stupid picture!"

"Fine! Whatever! Happy fucking birthday, I guess, you rude, nagging bitch."

Mike pressed the button, ending the call himself for once. It felt about as satisfiying as it felt hollow. He didn't know why he bothered, sometimes. Scott was just... he didn't know what he was.

"Who were you talking to?" Cameron inquired, coming out of his bedroom. He wore a set of fuzzy red pyjamas and clutched a hot water bottle to his chest that Mike had prepared for him earlier "It sounded like arguing."

"Nobody." Mike said a little too quickly. At Cameron's raised eyebrow he added "A- A friend. Nobody you know."

The smaller boy just blinked as Mike chuckled nervously "...Okay. Did you still want to order pizza? Mom said I'm not allowed to watch Pulp Fiction, apparently it's too violent, but get this," he leaned in closer, eyes bright "We're gonna do it anyway! My god, this is exhilarating. Please don't tell her."

Mike grinned "Secret's safe with me. I'll put the order in."

He ordered the pizza while Cameron pulled his favourite blanket from the arm of the couch and wrapped himself in it, grabbing the remote.

They settled in to watch the movie, curled up on opposite ends of the sofa. It was about half an hour into the film when he remembered he was supposed to be getting that stupid photo. He was wondering what the hell was taking so long when he felt his phone vibrate.

He glanced over at Cameron, who was busy paying rapt attention to the screen. Sneakily, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and angled it away, opening the message.

And immediately closed it again.

Oh my god.

It wasn't a selfie. He steeled himself, took a deep breath and opened it back up, extra cautious to keep his phone turned so that only he could see. 

Oh, he was going to rip him a new one tomorrow. Mike couldn't tear his eyes away, couldn't believe he'd actually gone and sent it. The nerve. The funny part was that he couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed- he didn't ask for it, he swears he didn't, but this was actually better than what he'd wanted. Not dissapointing in the slightest. It was probably a flattering angle.

He'd never really done the whole nudes thing, didn't get the point of it until now. He wondered if Scott was going to jerk off anyway, or if this was done specifically with him in mind. The thought made him almost giddy, blush creeping to the tips of his ears. He wondered if he should reciprocate.

Doing his best to stifle giggles, he sent a simple if not malicious text back. Thumbs down emoji. It took all of five seconds for Scott to call him back, most likely furious, and Mike couldn't hold it in any more, bust out laughing like he was alone in the room.

"What's that?" Cameron asked, leaning over to look, and Mike nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Nothing! N-nothing. Sorry. Got distracted." he declined the call and quickly tucked his phone away, face beet red. Some god somewhere must have been smiling down at him because just at that moment the doorbell rang "Pizza's here!" he said, all false cheer, and jumped up from the couch.

He received the food, set it down next to Cameron with a mission in mind "Hey, um, I'm gonna go shower real quick."

"What?" his friend asked, confusion plain on his face "But we're halfway through the movie. The pizza just got here."

"Yeah, I know, I just, um," he stalled, couldn't find a way to explain himself without giving away the full picture. He could just imagine Scott alone in his bedroom, agonising over his spiteful text, probably feeling extremely fucking stupid right about now. It was gratifying, but he couldn't leave things that way. He needed to go return the favour. Found that he actually very much wanted to. He didn't stick around to be asked any more questions, started walking backwards towards the bathroom "You don't have to pause it for me, or like, wait to eat or anything. I'll be fifteen minutes tops."

Cameron just raised an eyebrow, watching his friend dissapear into the hall. There was something going on with Mike, he thought. Had been for the past few months. He was just acting so... squirrely at the moment, always on the phone, darting into the other room when Cameron caught him in the middle of one of his conversations. He'd been patient so far, waiting for Mike to tell him what had him acting so strange, but that patience was wearing thin, and he was starting to worry.

But Cameron was an observant guy. He'd figure it out eventually.

///

30th December, 2017, 8:50am

"Well, I hope you have a nice trip." he told his friend, watching him sling a duffel bag over his shoulder "Even if you won't tell me what you're up to."

Mike stalled, smiling nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck "I already told you, Cam, I'm going to Calgary for a couple days. Visiting a, um, a friend."

"Is this the 'friend' you're always on the phone to?" he asked, skeptical.

"I... yeah." he said, not providing any more information, hand already on the door "I'll let you know when I've landed, okay?"

"Okay." Cameron looked at his feet, concerned "Just... stay safe, Mike. I'm worried about you. You're being all secretive at the moment, and you always seem... angry? It's not like you."

Mike doesn't have the heart to tell him that it is indeed very much like him. That he just doesn't know "I'm fine, Cam. There's absolutely nothing to worry about, I promise. I'll see you next week."

He slipped out the door, not looking back to see his friend watching him warily from down the hall.

Chapter Text

Same day, 4:45pm

Mike stood by the pickup bay, fiddling with the strap of his duffel bag, checking his phone every five seconds. He'd arrived about an hour ago, sent a quick 'I'm here' text upon getting off the plane, and had been standing around ever since.

He'd spent the flight somewhat anxious. What was he doing? They'd had this planned for a while, but what was this even supposed to be? A home visit to, what, hang out? As if. They both knew full well they could do all the 'hanging out' they wanted over the phone. They'd been doing it for months already.

He kept looking at that fucking photo. Hed probably looked at it over a hundred times now. It wasn't reassuring in the slightest, just a reminder of what he was supposedly looking forward to the last couple of weeks. And funny thing was that he had been looking forward to it, but at the same time the idea of seeing Scott in person again left a strange pit in his stomach. He hadn't slept with anyone in years, not since Zoey- had never slept with a guy at all. Some might say it was weird he'd never moved on in that regard, that it was a waste of his early twenties, that he should be more experimental, maybe have a little more experience under his belt at this point.

But Mike just... wasn't like that. He hadn't had the motivation. Nothing had really excited him between then and now. And god, he was actually excited about it, enough so that his nerves were eating him alive. He'd never done casual before, if this could even be considered casual. He thinks they're both a little too invested for that. It definitely wasn't romantic, he thought. He wasn't sure what it was, and that just made it all the more exciting.

He checked his phone, frowning. He was due to pick him up over half an hour ago and he hadn't heard a peep. He'd probably be a lot less anxious if he wasn't stuck here in unfamiliar airport limbo.

As he got entirely too sick of waiting and was just about to call him, an unmarked white van pulled into the bay, coming to a sharp halt as it scraped against the curb. The tinted window rolled down, a familiar face leaned out of the drivers side. Mikes blood ran hot.

"What are you waiting for, asshole? Get in." the redhead smirked, looking him up and down. It was almost flirtatious. Would be if it weren't so condescending.

"Hi." he grinned, climbing into the passenger's side, ready to wipe that smarmy look right off his face "Nice van. You kidnap people in this thing?"

"I use it for work." he scowled, playful energy immediately dissapearing as Mike fiddled with the seatbelt.

"It's creepy as shit. I don't even wanna be seen in this thing."

"Oh, go fuck yourself. I hope I kept you waiting in the cold so long you caught frostbite already."

"Wow, rude." he grinned, all too pleased with himself "And yeah, you may as well have. What took you so damn long anyway?"

He rolled his eyes as Mike put on his seat belt "I had to take time off work to come get you. Some of us are actually really busy, you know."

"We've had these plans for weeks, dude. How had you not already scheduled the time off with your boss?"

"Boss?" he snapped, scowling "I'm my own boss. What, you think I answer to some shmuck sat around in an office? I do what I want, when I want, thanks."

"You're self employed?" Mike blinked at him, watched as he put the stick in gear and pulled out of the bay, frowned as he took in this information "Then why are you so god damn late?"

He shrugged "Got carried away. Big project."

"Oh, so you're ignoring me for work, now." Mike griped.

Scott tutted in annoyance "I came and got you, didn't I? God, you're here for five seconds and already getting on my ass. Quit being so needy or you can get right back on the next plane."

"I'm not being needy."

"Uh, yeah," Scott rolled his eyes, and turned left onto the highway "You are. Ignoring you for work. What are you, my long-suffering wife?"

Mike's face burned "Oh, shut it. Can we put on the radio or something?"

He didn't wait for an answer, leaned forward and flipped a switch. Music blared from the speaker, far too loud.

Wherever, whenever-

"Is that. Is that Shakira?" he laughed in disbeleif.

"Must have changed the station. Stupid radio." Scott muttered, pressed a couple of buttons that did nothing, eyes on the road as his face turned red.

"Changed the-" he squinted at the speakers "Dude, that's a casette player."

"No, it's- ugh." he gave up as Mike started all out howling "Alright, no music."

He finally found the off button, pressed it with a real venom as the van fell quiet again, but it didn't do much to shut Mike up. He just kept on laughing "Where the hell did you even find Shakira on cassette? Why do you have casettes in the first place?"

"It's an old van." he defended "Leave my casettes alone."

"God, fine. But, c'mon, fucking Shakira?"

"I swear to god I will drive us into oncoming traffic."

"Fine, fine. You're so touchy." he grinned, but his face slipped as Scott swerved sharply to the left, narrowly avoiding a collision as he sped through a yellow light "And you drive like an asshole."

"Bite me." he said, thinking nothing of it as he pressed way too hard on the gas.

It was about an hour drive from the airport, out the opposite way to the city. A nerve-wracking drive at that. Mike considered his time in Scotts sketchy van akin to a near death experience. Eventually, thankfully, they pulled into the carpark of a block of apartments. It wasn't particularly upscale, but it wasn't as scummy as Mike might have imagined Scott's home to be.

They hopped out of the van, making their way to one of the gound floor units at the back, and Mike finally got a good look at him. He was fully aware that it was late December and absolutely freezing, he was wearing his own long coat and gloves, but it was still odd to see Scott in anything other than a grimey white tank top. He wore a brown leather jacket that looked like it had seen better days, zipped up to the top and collar flipped up to protect him from the wind. His usual straight-cut jeans, and a pair of sturdy leather boots. He opted not to wear gloves, instead jamming his hands in his pockets for the short walk from the car to the front door.

The second they got inside Scott unzipped his jacket, throwing it on what looked like a hand made wooden coat stand and revealing a complete lack of layers, back down to his usual, and probably only outfit.

"Do you even own any other clothes?" he teased.

Scott shrugged "I think I have a tee shirt somewhere. What, you want me to put away the guns? They're on show for you, y'know." he wandered off into the living room, flexing as he did so, only half a joke.

Mike grinned, taking off his coat and following him into the living room, dumping his bag next to the beaten up couch "Oh, you're flirting with me, now?"

"Obviously." he rolled his eyes.

"You're really bad at it."

Scott made a noise, indignant "Then why do you look so happy about it?"

"Maybe I find you funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny."

"Well, whatever you're trying to do, you're failing at it." he snickered at Scotts noise of frustration, and took a look at his surroundings "Wow, it's actually kinda nice in here."

And he meant it. The whole place was a little run down, worn and obviously lived in, with well-trodden wooden floors and a large moth eaten rug taking up most of the living area. The main room was small and lined with shelves upon shelves of odd carvings and what looked to be animal skulls, real or fake he didn't know.  

Past the couch and television was a small kitchen with a door that led out to what he assumed was back outside. A door sat ajar not quite hiding what must be a bathroom, fluorescent light creeping out into the living area.

"Eh," Scott shrugged "It's not much. But it's home." he wandered into the kitchen, talking over his shoulder "Rent's cheap, at least."

"I imagined you'd live in, like, a shack or something." he teased, following not too far behind "With like, a sheet metal roof and no front door."

"God, that's what you think of me, huh? And you still wanted to fuck me?" he turned around, leaned back against the kitchen counter looking incredibly smug.

It was a trap, Mike decided. He could stammer and blush and be all precious about it, or he could double down and admit what they both knew to be true. Both were unfavourable. He kept thinking about that picture.

"Well, it's like you keep saying," he started, feeling a little smug himself "I'm obsessed with you."

The way Scotts face turned red was well worth any embarassment he felt on his own part. Incredibly gratifiying. Mike didn't often go for shock value, wasn't quite as sharp tongued and antagonistic as his counterpart, usually liked to play peacemaker where he could. Scott just brought out the worst in him. 

And now he seemed to be stalling, couldn't think of a comeback for that one. Mike almost felt bad. He'd meant it to be flirty, but it may have come off as just a little creepy, when he thought about it too much.

He cleared his throat "You, um, got anything to drink?"

"What are you, an alcoholic?" he snapped back immediately, suddenly much more comfortable. It was a game of give and take, after all.

"Oh fuck off, I need a drink. You make me nervous."

"Oh really?" he shot him an almost sultry look as he rifled through the cupboard, pulling out a bottle of whiskey "And what makes you say that?"

"You're mean. And weird." he stated plainly, leaned back against the wall, decided to give him a little something more "And kinda hot."

"Only kinda?" Scott turned to face him, grinning like a shark. It was the first time he'd ever thrown an actual compliment his way, felt appropriate in the moment, and it must have worked, the redhead looking far too pleased with himself "Wow, rude. And sad. You're telling me you came all the way here for kinda?"

He didn't say anything, lest he ruin the effect of the compliment. 'Kinda' was accurate. He found Scott attractive, in the weirdest way- Liked his bad attitude, maybe had a bit of a thing about redheads. He was well built, sure of himself, had an edge to him that Mike found appealing. The litany of scars only enhanced that. He wouldn't expect the average person to feel the same way, fully aware his tastes were a little unorthodox but, god, he would never say that out loud. He'd hate to crush his ego like that. Maybe found his obnoxious brand of confidence a little attractive in itself.

Scott didn't seem to need an reply, just uncapped the bottle, took a swig of whiskey like it didn't burn, didn't even wince. He handed it over to Mike as he walked past him back into the living area, who scrunched up his nose like the bottle offended him.

"Am I an alcoholic?" he balked as he joined him, perched himself on the arm of the ratty couch "Do you not have any mixers? Or, y'know, glasses?"

"What are you, a girl?"

"God, are you doing a bit or are you actually that sexist?" Mike demanded, taking a much more measured swig himself. It was cheap and shitty and tasted like death "I swear you're like, the least PC gay man I've ever met."

"You meet a lot of gay men, Mike?" It was a tease, but had a certain angle to it, like he actually wanted an anwer.

"Oh shut up." he took another sip. It made him shudder "And no, actually. I've never, um..."

He trailed off, feeling kind of awkward. He hadn't planned to say anything about it, figured it was probably better that Scott didn't know he'd never experimented with his own gender, fairly certain the other man had more experience in that ballpark. He didn't want to give him more ammo.

But it didn't look like that was going to be an issue. He watched Scott think for a moment, putting the peices together until it clicked, and then he just stared at Mike, bewildered.

"Really? You?" he blinked at him "But, you're so..." He gestured towards him, looking away. 

"I'm so what?"

"Pretty." he spat, like the word was painful to say. He averted his eyes, folded his arms across his chest "If I can get laid, I'm sure you could, easy."

The compliment, however unwilling, did something funny to Mikes stomach. Or maybe it was just the disgusting whiskey "I just haven't really wanted to." he shrugged, taking another swig "I haven't really done anything since... well, since Zoey."

That name drop went down like a lead balloon, Scott clearly bothered as he ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back further as he pointedly looked away. But he didn't say anything about it, shook it off pretty quick, focused on the other implication of that statement.

"And you wanted to... with me?" the way he said 'me', quietly, like it was outlandish, like it was unreasonable. The way he didn't quite meet his eye. It made something tighten in his chest.

Mike studied him, the tension in his broad shoulders, the cocky way he leaned his hip against the doorframe, exuding false confidence. The scars that littered his body caught hints of the low light, making them almost shiny.

"No, yeah I, uh, I wanted to..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. He stood, stepped a few paces forward, closing in on Scotts space. Their height difference was so much more obvious up close, the redhead having to look up to make eye contact.

It was tense. Felt weirdly meaningful. Wasn't how he'd expected this to go. The anticipation on the others face made Mike feel funny, the wideness of those cool grey eyes telling him he wasn't the only one nervous.

He leaned in, tried putting a gentle hand on Scotts shoulder. He flinched like he'd been burned "Hey, what's-"

"Sorry. Um. Maybe if I-" the redhead placed a hand behind Mikes head, pulling him down by a couple of inches. They were practically nose to nose now, breathing each others air. Instead of closing the gap, they just looked at eachother. The moment went on for far too long.

"Oh my god this is so awkward." Mike pulled away, looking anywhere but at Scott.

"You're telling me." he scratched the back of his neck, blushing.

Why was this so difficult? He'd already seen his cock, for fucks sake. This should be nothing, a walk in the park in comparison to that reveal, and yet here he was sweating it out over a fucking kiss.

"I'm gonna need another drink. Maybe several."

The redhead scoffed, taking on an offended air "What, am I that ugly? You gotta get wasted to wanna kiss me?"

He recoiled, unsure how to navigate that one "I- That's not- You're not helping!" Mike groaned "Maybe if you weren't so weird about it-"

"Oh, I'm weird about it?" Scott interrupted, raising his voice "You're the one who apparently needs to drink yourself stupid just to be interested in me."

"It makes me less nervous!" he defended, throwing his arms up "And maybe I wouldn't be nervous if you weren't always getting so god damn worked up over everything. Like, okay, this is new for both of us, but it'd be a hell of a lot easier if you weren't trying to fight me."

"Fight you? I'm not trying to fight you, I'm just calling it like it is. Maybe this would be easier if you'd just relax and stop being such an uptight bitch-"

"I'm not uptight, you're just fucking crazy! Reading into all kinds of shit that isn't even happening, like, I just wanted a fucking drink, and suddenly you wanna stand there and start calling yourself ugly? As if that's gonna make you more appealing?"

He looked like he'd been slapped "Fuck you. I'm not crazy, you're crazy! And I'll say whatever the hell I want!" Scott shoved him, and Mike stumbled back a few paces.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, and righted himself, furious, in an absolute state of disbeleif "There you go, literally pushing me away! Is this what you wanted, Scott? You're looking to get beaten up again?"

"I didn't get beaten up, I got stabbed." he stalked forwards, pointing a finger in the taller mans face "And we both know if I hadn't hurt myself I would have beat the shit outta you."

Completely delusional. Mike felt something boil over "You're so full of shit," he spat "you were never gonna win that fight."

"You wanna bet, asshole?"

"No," Mike grabbed him harshly by the front of his shirt and pulled him close, just about ready to lose his god damn mind "I'm gonna prove you wrong!"

And that's when Scott grabbed his hair in both fists, and kissed him.

It was like fireworks. Not like when you're watching them in the sky- like fireworks up close. Burning, painful, firecrackers being let off in front of your face. A complete sensory overload. Their teeth clacked together and there was too much tongue. Scott bit down hard on his lip with those insanely sharp teeth and he shouted in pain, ripping the hands from his hair and pulling away.

They stared at eachother, panting, Mike still firmly holding his wrists.

He was a terrible kisser. It was borderline disgusting. He'd never wanted anything more.

"I, uh-" Scott started, only to be cut off by being thrown onto the couch. Mike climbed on top of him, pinning him into the cushions. He ignored his wide eyed look and smashed their mouths back together, eliciting a groan from the redhead.

He was agitated, too riled up to register it properly as strong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him in close. Mike licked over the other mans mouth, one hand behind his back where he straddled him and the other held loosely in oily ginger hair. He tightened his grip, pulled hard, forced his head back so he could jam his tongue down his thoat, leaving no room for argument on who was in charge here.

And then Scott was moaning, bucking his hips up into him and sucking on his tongue. It was a real head rush, Mike getting lost in the gravity of it. Held him close, pushed them further into the couch, took his hair in both fists as he tried his best to meld their faces together. He only stopped when too-eager hands started pawing at the button of his jeans.

It was too much. He eased off a little, slowing the kiss until it became something lazy, trailing off into something almost gentle that let them catch their breath again.

When Mike finally pulled away Scott looked dazed, lips bruised and eyes glassy. He still had his hands on the taller mans hips where he straddled him, the starstruck look on his face making Mike feel funny inside.

"That was-"

"I don't-"

They both paused awkwardly, having spoken at the same time. Mike had to look away to compose himself.

"Why'd you stop?" the redhead asked, unusually soft, drawing his gaze back to him.

"That," Mike started again "That was..." Confusing? Complicated? Whatever it was it had felt good. Way too good. But he wasn't going to say as much. Instead, he settled on the other glaring truth "You really need a shower."

"Oh, for the love of- Get off of me!" Scott pushed him aside, where he landed on the couch, giggling "You're unbelievable."

He got up and stalked off into the kitchen. Mike followed him "Yeah, so are you." and if he said it a little too fondly, nobody paid it any mind.

Chapter Text

December 31st, 2017, 11:32am

Mike woke up on the couch with his legs hanging over the arm. He startled for a moment and sat upright, forgetting where he was and wondering whether one of his alters had gotten him lost again.

No, he remembered. He was at Scotts place. 

Oh, right.

Bleary eyed, he climbed off the moth eaten couch where they had- oh, god, they'd made out on this couch last night. He remembered it getting a little hot and heavy, remembered it like it was a distant, untouchable thing, like it hadn't happened not even twenty four hours ago. It made his brain feel fuzzier than it already did. He wasn't awake enough to be thinking about this.

He wandered into the tiny kitchen in persuit off caffeine, and was releived to find a full pot of coffee on the stove, still warm where the burner sat on low beneath it. It struck him that this was most likely left out with him in mind and he couldn't help the tired grin that fact put on his face. Scott had thought about him- was being nice to him. What a trip.

The search for a mug to drink it from, however, was a far more arduous task. Even after rifling through every cupboard in the little kitchen Scott didn't seem to have any. Frustrated and not really awake yet he settled on a bowl, sipping at his coffee like it was soup.

This was stupid, but he wasn't going to go start an argument over something so inconsequential. One nice gesture was more than he could reasonably ask for anyway. Once his eyes stopped feeling so heavy he took a little look around. He noted no toaster and no microwave, the coffee pot seemingly being the only peice of apparatus other than the few rusty pots and pans he'd found in one of the cupboards.

Curious, he opened the kitchen door that led out onto a small patio where there sat two chairs and a round table, an ashtray sat atop it absolutely overflowing with cigarette butts. The patio overlooked some grass, frosted over in the dead of winter. The whole building was closed in with a high brick wall. He wondered if this felt restrictive to someone like Scott, who grew up around open fields and very few buildings. He assumed a farm must be a lot more spacious.

He stood out there for a minuite, sipping his bowl of coffee. He'd slept in the same sweater he'd arrived in, only swapping out his jeans for comfortable joggers. It wasn't particularly warm in Scotts house, but at the end of the night he'd at least been provided a blanket.

"Where am I sleeping, then?" He'd asked, once Scott had declared he was going to bed and revealed he didn't have a spare.

"You get the couch."

"What, not gonna let me bunk with you?" He'd teased "And here I thought you liked me."

The sly smile he'd received had made his stomach do something funny "You're not sleeping in my bed if you're not even gonna blow me."

The statement had made his face burn, a little more forward than he was expecting, and he found himself blushing now just thinking about it. Felt too hot under the collar for someone who just woke up. Maybe he'd taken too long to fall asleep last night, ruminating on that statement, wondering if that was some kind of challenge. Maybe he'd thought about what would happen if he just went and knocked on his bedroom door, let that scenario play out in his head a few times. Maybe he took a good look at that photo again.

He went back inside and rifled through his bag, pulling out his toothbrush and other supplies. Scotts bathroom was filthy- there was a ring of grime round the tub and the sink looked like it had never been cleaned. Whatever. He'd spent a year showering in men's locker rooms at the gym, this would do to brush his teeth in.

He spat toothpaste into the basin and noticed the little red mark just under his bottom lip, still sore where Scott had bit him. It made him feel funny. He kind of wanted to get bitten again. No shame in that, he thought. Maybe he should just man up already- go find Scott and see where it takes him.

Akin to his fantasies last night on the couch, he went and knocked on his bedroom door, but that's where the similarities ended because there was no 'come in', not even an agressive 'what'. Curious, he opened it to reveal the little bedroom, double bed pushed up against the far wall next to the window, dresser squished next to it, but no Scott. 

Then he heard what sounded like a drill going off in the next room. What he had assumed was a broom closet or something sat adjacent to the front door- that was where the noise was coming from. He took a look inside to find a garage the size of the entire rest of the apartment, filled to the brim with furnature, tools, and odd offcuts of wood. Every surface was occupied by something, a desk in the far corner displayed a laptop surrounded by loose and messy paperwork.

Scott stood hunched over a table saw, extremely focused "One sec." he said, not looking up from his project. He was wearing plastic safety goggles. Smart, Mike thought, watching the sawdust fly up into the air, thick enough to choke him. He finished the cut and switched off the saw, setting what looked like a plain wooden rectangle aside with multiple identical others.

"You're finally up. You always sleep in till noon?" the redhead teased, removing his goggles to reveal the red rings they left around his eyes. Mike thought he looked kind of funny, but didn't say anything. For once didn't feel like ruining his apparent good mood.

"No, just didn't have an alarm set. Cool garage, by the way." he looked around, and then frowned "Oh, so this is where all the mugs went."

There were probably about ten mugs scattered around the place in varying degrees of mouldiness "Leave my mugs alone." Scott grinned "They're part of the decor."

Mike snickered at that, and started going around collecting them "No way. I had to drink coffee out of a bowl this morning, I'm not doing that all week. How long have you been up, anyway?"

"Since, like, five?" Scott guessed, not saying a word about his guest cleaning up for him.

"Five?" Mike repeated, arms full of crockery "What, just working? It's new years eve."

"Yeah, I know." he rubbed at the red marks on his face, looking tired "I've got a lot of projects going on."

"You're telling me." he looked at the piles and piles of what, honestly, to him just looked like junk "Actually, do tell me. What are you even doing in here?"

"What do you mean what am I doing? Im building stuff." he snapped, gestured to the pile of wood beside him "This needs finishing by the end of the week or my client's gonna get all pissy about it, I'm already two days behind and there's this bitch who wont stop fucking emailing me about-"

"Okay, okay, I get it, you're busy" he stopped him, blew a lock of hair out of his eyes as he shuffled towards the door, careful not to drop any of the cups "Are you done for the day? Wanna, I dunno, go do something else?"

Scott snorted "Something else, huh?" he looked pleased, like he'd caught him out, as if Mike wasn't being purposely transparent "I gotta finish up a couple things in here if I'm taking tomorrow off- give me, maybe an hour?"

"Oh, and then you're gonna make some time for me?" Mike batted his eyes playfully, laughed as Scott pretended to swing a length of timber at his knees, dodging it anyway.

"Bite me. Just- Go make yourself busy or something." he waved him away, and turned to the metal shelves lining one wall, rifling through various tools and tins of paint.

Mike slipped away, grinning.

///

"Ugh." he wrinkled his nose at the mold that fell into the sink. Rinsing out these stupid mugs was going to give him diseases currently unknown to man.

Scotts place was fucking gross. When he told him to make himself busy he probably hadn't meant go clean the house, that was a level of rude beyond even him, but Mike couldn't help himself. He seemed to own dish soap and bleach and no other cleaning products whatsoever, but he could make do. By the time he was done the kitchen stank of chemicals but at least there wasn't mould behind the sink and rotting food scraps on the floor. Mike couldn't believe this was the guy he was interested in.

But he fucking was, and it was embarrassing. He needed to get this silly crush out of his system- Was in half a mind to just bottle the whole thing.

"Why's it smell like shit in here?" 

And there he was, tracking sawdust into the freshly swept kitchen without a care in the world. Mike has a moment where he feels a bit like an underapreciated housewife, then remembers that this is a man he has kissed exactly once (okay technically twice, but it doesn't count if he didn't remember it) and snaps himself out of that comparison immediately.

"It smelt like shit before. Now it smells like bleach. Youre welcome." he rolls his eyes, sets the last mug on the draining board.

"I didn't say thank you." is the response he gets, with a smug grin to mach. He stalks over, places one hand on the kitchen counter behind Mikes head "And I won't. What the hell are you cleaning my kitchen for?"

Mike isn't sure if this is flirting. He's never one hundred percent certain what Scott means by anything he says, but it's usually some kind of bait to get him riled up, and my god if he doesn't fall for it every time.

"Cause this place is a pigsty. You seriously didn't think to clean up even a little before you invited me over? It's bad manners, and quite frankly disgusting."

He sticks his tongue between his teeth. Its kind of cute "Oh, you wanna bang me so bad."

That statement decidedly isn't "Oh for- god, you have such a fucking ego."

"You love it."

"I do not." Mike leaned back into the counter but didn't really have anywhere to go "You're insufferable."

"Oh, then I guess I won't subject you to me and my ego anymore." He shrugged, grinning, and turned to walk back to the garage "I'll just get some more work done, leave you alone." 

"No you- get back here." Mike grabbed him by the arm, twisting it round uncomfortably so they were facing each other, not that Scott seemed to care "And stop smiling like that."

"Make me."

It was too easy. All too easy to give into his curiosity, the barrier already breached, the floodgate open, spitting out tumultuous waters that he couldn't wait to throw himself into.

Mike pulled him forwards, kissing that stupid smug mouth with a ferocity that knocked Scott clean off his feet. He had to sling an arm around his waist just to keep them upright, held them flush, pressed together 

The redhead licked up into his mouth, pushing back with enthusiasm, and Mike groaned. It had been literal years since he'd done anything like this, hadn't ever been kissed quite the way Scott kisses, hot and messy and desperate in a way that has Mike already stiffening against the confines of his trousers. The way he kisses makes him feel wanted, and unfortunately he's just that easy.

"Shower. Now." he broke them apart, dead serious and terribly impatient.

"Are you for fucking real?" Scott righted himself, but didn't remove Mikes arm from his waist "You're really gonna make me go shower first?"

"Scott, you're-" he rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated "You're covered in sawdust." he looked down at his own sweater where they had been pressed together "I'm covered in sawdust."

"...Then I guess we both gotta shower." the redhead smirked, no subtlety about it.

Mike paused. Oh. He nodded, pushing Scott towards the bathroom as the other cackled, laughing at him like this was some kind of game, like he was the one winning. Yeah, as if.

He hovered in the doorway, watching Scott fiddle with the taps until the shower was running to his preference, and then, without so much as looking back at him started to undress. He was all broad shoulders and lean muscle, a patchwork of freckles and scars littering his body. He dropped his jeans, revealing no boxers underneath.

"You always go commando?" Mike asked, mouth gone suddenly dry even as steam filled the small bathroom.

Scott snorted and turned to face him, not bothered by his own nudity in the slightest "Most of the time." Mike blushed at his lack of decency, and lost the struggle to keep his eyes above waist level "Your turn."

"God, you're not shy, are you." he stated, unable to look away. He'd already seen it. Had looked at it more times than he'd care to admit, but now it was right here in front of him everything was amped up to a hundred. He wasn't even hard yet, and here Mike was, embarassingly horny and practically leaking through his boxers. He made himself remove his sweater, body tense and rigid.

"What would be the point? Here, you're taking too long." Scott grabbed the hem of his shirt, tried to pull it up, but had his hand slapped away.

"Uh," he stalled at Scotts indignant look, felt even stupider that he had to say it out loud "Shirt stays on. Otherwise I go away."

"Oh, right. I forgot. So you're gonna shower with a shirt on? That's fucking stupid." he griped, but it didn't stop him from shucking down Mikes joggers and underwear in one go. It was sudden, the shock of being exposed, not that he was complaining.

Scott had no reservations in taking a good look, grin shark-like as he eyed his prize "Oh, hello" he purred, immediately wrapped a hand around him.

Mike gasped- He hadn't felt more than his own hand in so god damn long that it didn't even feel real. He barely heard him when he asked, jokingly "What's with all the manscaping?"

"I, um," he started, far too distracted by the hand around his shaft, managed to grind out "I'm not the one of me who showers."

"So you didn't choose to shave your pubes in a girly-ass triangle?" 

"Just-" he groaned as Scott ran a loose fist up the length of him. He was going to lose his cool so god damn quickly "Stop asking questions and get in the shower."

Scott let go of him and suddenly it was so much easier to breathe "Get in the shower." he mimicked, but still followed the order, hopping over the side of the tub to stand himself under the just-too-hot stream of water, shoulders immediately turning red from the heat "There. Clean enough for you?"

"Um, you have to actually wash yourself, y'know." Mike raised an eyebrow as he kicked his socks off his feet.

"Ugh, fine. You're so fussy." Scott grabbed the bar of soap from the side and rubbed it in his hands, creating a lather that he scrubbed into his pits and then up into his hair "Are you getting in or what?"

Mike stepped carefully into the tub, the water spraying him gently where he wasn't quite under the stream. Scott was hairier than he had expected, obvious now that the water had changed the colour from bright ginger to a dark auburn. It matted against his chest and trailed down past his bellybutton, Mike following it with his eyes down to where Scott stood at half-mast. He found the sight really quite appealing. He could do this, he told himself, working up the confidence to actually touch him. Scott had had no issue touching him, he could do the same. It couldn't be so different from handling his own.

"You're like a ginger werewolf." he smirked, grabbing the soap and working it in his hands.

"Excuse me?" Scott said, indignant, but then cut himself off with a moan when Mike, feeling bold, grabbed his cock with a soaped-up hand. It was reassuring. He clearly wanted Mike to touch him, and from the look on his face was likely just as into his as he was, if not more.

It wasn't so scary, just new. He stepped under the stream with him, feeling confident, used his other hand to card his fingers through wet hair, pulling him close to bite at his lip. Scott growled, impatient, grabbed at either side of his head to bring them closer together and bucking his hips forward into the touch. Oh. Okay. So that's how this was going to go.

Mike liked to think of himself as a bit of a romantic, but that just wasn't the right vibe with Scott. He matched his energy, kissed him rough and dirty as he stroked him. He made sure to really work the soap in, didn't really trust Scott to clean himself properly enough to put his mouth on- not that that's what he wanted to be thinking about right now, if ever. It didn't feel weird, didn't even feel unfamiliar. It was easier than his first time touching a girl. He tightened his fist, dragged it up the length of him as he dared to suck on his tongue, got a real thrill from the desperate sound it drew out of the other man.

Scott broke them apart first, breathing a little too heavily "Ugh, just, quit teasing already. Get on your knees."

"Um," he grinned, feeling smug "And who put you in charge?"

"I did." Scott grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to push him downward to no avail "Will you just- don't laugh at me!"

Mike couldn't stifle the giggles. He was so fucking needy, it was endearing. Really quite flattering, actually "God, you're so desperate."

"I am not- Oh." he stopped as Mike did as he was told, lowering himself so he was eye level with his cock. He hadn't let go of it, still held it in one hand, and gently squeezed at the base, making him twitch.

So he wasn't one hundred percent sure what to do, but that's okay, he's not as nervous as he thought he'd be. Scott seemed to like just about any attention he'd given him so far, and it's not like he'd never watched porn. He flicked his tongue over the slit, tasting salty precum for the first time, and then pulled back to run his tongue from the base to the tip.

Feeling bold, he took the head inside his mouth and ran his tongue across the vein at the bottom. Scott groaned above him. He sucked it further in, taking it down until the head just about touched the back of his throat and then stopped, careful not to gag. A hand brushed through his wet hair, gently encouraging him, and he sucked a little harder as he slowly drew back. With the sounds the other was making he must have been doing something right.

"Fuck..." Scott gripped his hair tightly, pulled him back so the tip was just against his lips "Tell me I'm better than you."

He stalled at that, blushing furiously. Was he for fucking real?

He gave in anyway "You're better than me." he mumbled against the side of his cock, not able to meet his eye.

"Great. Now call yourself a whore."

Okay, that's too much. He recoiled in disbeleif, looked up to find Scott biting his lip, desperately trying not to laugh.

"I- oh my god." he backed up, letting go of his cock entirely "You're not into this, you're just making fun of me!"

The ensuing cackle made his face burn "You should see your face! You were totally gonna say it, too."

"I was not!"

"You so were."

"Oh you're the worst." he stood and grabbed Scott by the shoulders, pushing him up against the wall. He hissed as the cold tiles hit his back "You think you're so fucking funny." he leaned in and bit his neck a lot harder than necessary, drawing a shout from the redhead. He'd show him. Mike was both agitated and horny. It was a weird combination, and resulted in him nearly wrestling Scott down onto his knees, holding him there by the shoulders while he half-heartedly protested.

"Oh c'mon, I was only fooling around." he complained, grinning up at the taller man with no air of remorse about him.

"Just shut up." 

"Make me." 

Scott opened his mouth, a wordless invitation. He still managed to smirk up at him, tongue slightly out. Mike had never been both so annoyed and turned on in his life.

He gave in, slapping the head of his cock on the waiting tongue. Scott didn't hesitate, took it in his mouth and sank down to nearly the hilt, licking at the underside.

"Oh, fuck..." he groaned, grabbing at wet ginger hair, bucking his hips only gently as not to choke him, just trying to be polite. Scott hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard all the way back and pulled off with a wet 'pop'.

The redhead grinned up at him, still smug. How could he still be so cocky, on his knees like this? It was infuriating. He threw his politeness out the window.

A giggle "You don't have to-" They never found out what he was going to say, because Mike hooked a finger in his mouth, holding it open, and pushed himself straight back in, hard and deep enough that Scott gagged around his cock.

"Don't have to what?" Mike grinned, holding his head in place while Scott glared at him, mouth full. In retaliation the ginger swallowed around the head, making Mike whine. He bucked his hips, harder this time, setting a steady pace as he fucked into his mouth. Scott closed his eyes, meeting him halfway and sucking on the length of him as he just let it happen.

Fuck. It spurred Mike on, pushing deeper so it hit the back of his throat, and then he moaned. The sound and vibration around his cock made him nearly lose it then and there. He all but growled, taking wet red hair in both fists and fucking into him without restraint.

He watched as Scott screwed his eyes shut tight, not fighting it as spit dripped down his chin. He went harder, legs shaking, got a sick sort of thrill from the way the other was turning red from lack of oxygen. Fuck, he was too close, he was going too far.

He tried to pull back a little, both to steady himself and give the the other man some room to breathe, but Scott grabbed him by the hips and held him there, somehow going deeper, burying his nose in dark pubic hair until he choked on the length of him.

"Oh, oh shit-"

Mike came hard. Stars in his vision, his legs nearly gave out and he had to grab the top of the shower screen as to not topple over into the tub.

Scott finally pulled back, choking and gasping for air. When Mikes vision returned to normal he looked down- his eyes were still shut tightly, face red with a mix of spit and come on his chin, and absolutely painfully hard between his legs where he knelt.

"I think you like doing that." Mike said weakly.

"No shit." he rasped, wiping the fluids from his face and then coughed, rubbing at his throat. He opened his eyes again, was met with the sight of Mikes length slowly going back down, and practically growled.

He lunged and bit the taller mans thigh, eliciting a high-pitched yelp, and pulled him down on top of him. Mike, already weak in the knees, had no chance as he was wrestled onto his back so that he was laying in the tub like he might be taking a bath.

Scott kissed him, rough and dirty, and he could taste himself in the other mans mouth. In his hazy post-orgasm mind he wasn't sure if it was gross or not.

The redhead squatted in front of him, one knee placed either side of his ribcage and a wild look in his eye. Mike was confronted with his cock as it was slapped against his cheek, making him blush deeply.

"Oh, okay-" he started, but was promptly cut off by fingers in his mouth, holding it open in a mirror of how Mike had done to him only minutes ago. Scott pushed in, not very deep, just enough to brush the head up against the roof of his mouth and he stilled, closing his eyes and gripping the side of the tub in anticipation.

"God, you're so pretty when you shut up." the redhead told him, bucking forwards gently, but he didn't go any deeper. Didn't hit the brutal pace Mike had set earlier "Just relax your jaw. Yeah, that's it."

He tasted like salt and soap. It was thick and heavy on his tongue and he found he was way more into it than expected. Was it supposed to feel this nice? He knew he was blushing, embarassed to be just laying there and taking it, listening to the little pants and moans above him.

Scott nearly lost his composture a couple of times but was surprisingly careful not to push too far. He had one hand in dark hair, the other tightly gripping the end of the bathtub, holding him steady. He groaned "You're so fucking pretty, Mike."

He felt himself start to get hard again, the soft words going straight to his head. He moaned around his cock, relaxing so it slipped just far enough to touch the back of his throat.

"I- oh fuck. I'm gonna come in your mouth, okay?"

He hummed in affirmation, heard the choked little noise as hot and sticky fluid coated his tongue, opened his eyes just in time to see the redhead above him shudder as he held onto the tub, head dipped forward so deep auburn hair fell into his face.

The eye contact they made in that moment was a whole beast of its own. Indescribable. There was an understanding there, a bloom of warmth spreading from Mike's chest out to his extremities. Made him feel known. Wanted.

Scott pulled out and flopped back, sitting himself between the others long legs with a grunt. Mike subconsciously swallowed. He only realised what he'd done after, when Scotts exhausted expression changed into something decidedly smug.

"Don't say it."

"Wasn't going to."

They just watched each other for a moment, sat in the tub with the shower still running, neither one of them under the stream.

"You're..." Mike started, brain still fuzzy "You were being weirdly nice to me. When you were, y'know, and after I..."

Scott shrugged, far too casual "It was pretty obvious you never sucked dick before. Full offense."

"I- excuse me?" Mike sat himself up, whatever kind of moment they were having very much over "You weren't complaining when-"

Scott kissed him. It was lazy, with his legs folded over Mikes own. He snaked a hand between them and found Mike still half-mast, grabbed him at the base and absolutely delighted in the squeak he got out of the other man.

He broke away, squeezed his shaft in a way that made his spine tingle "You the one and done type, or...?"

Mike bit his lip, sat back and let this confusing, infuriating man stroke him hard again. Oh, fuck it, he could go for round two. He grabbed him roughly by either side of his face, dragging him in for another kiss.

Chapter Text

1st January, 2018, 2:40pm

Mike staggered into the kitchen wearing boxers and a thin tee shirt that stuck to him with sweat. He opened the fridge and grabbed a half drunk carton of orange juice, downing it in one go, then decided that wasn't enough and flipped the cold tap on the kitchen sink, drinking from the faucet like a wild animal.

It was while he was doing this that he heard his phone buzzing from the couch, where he'd left it last night, just before he and Scott-

He stuck his head fully under the tap, letting the icy water run over his face. It felt good. Refreshing. Cooled him off a little, at least.

Mike thinks he might be going insane. Not the usual kind of insane, either. He feels giddy. He feels like he's walking on air. He hasn't known this feeling ever once in his life, isn't sure what he would even call it.

It had started in the shower and carried on into the bedroom, and hadn't really... stopped. Mike didn't know he could even get it up a three times in a row but the proof is right there in the stains on the bedsheets. He doesn't remember when they fell asleep, but he sure remembers waking up in Scotts bed.

Which was, honestly, a straight up acid trip in its own right. He had woken up with the sunrise, the other man curled tightly around his back with a hand up his shirt, pressed far too close and on the edge of too warm, radiating heat like a furnace. Scott snoring in his ear felt far more intimate than anything they'd gotten up to beforehand.

It had made him squirm, a tightness in his chest, a voice resonating in his head saying he did not belong here. 

But Scott had woken up before he could decide exactly what that tightness was, had pulled him impossibly closer, growled something unintelligible and absolutely filthy into the back of his neck, snaked an unsubtle hand down into his boxers-

He was getting worked up again. Had to stop thinking about it, or else he wouldn't be able to function properly. Had said the same to Scott- all but wrestled him off that morning, insistent on coffee first. Made him go brush his teeth, too.

And then it had carried on. This wasn't normal sex- it wasn't like with Zoey, all sweet words and romantic buildup and awkward fumbling in the dark. This was animal. He'd never felt so wild. So natural. So human.

It scared the absolute shit out of him.

He shook his head in a half attempt to clear it, didn't have the bandwidth to be thinking about this right now. He grabbed his phone from where it was vibrating between the couch cushions, looking at the caller ID.

And the name on the screen hit like an anvil to the head. The timing of this could literally not be worse. It was absurd. Whatever higher power was out there was definitely mocking him. He bit his lip, anxiety flying through the god damn roof, but accepted the call anyway. He could never bring himself to ignore her.

"Zoey?"

"Mike! Hey!" she started, chipper "I didn't think you were gonna pick up for a minuite there."

"No I'm... I'm here." he darted into the kitchen, checking over his shoulder that the bedroom door was still closed, heart beating so loudly he was sure it could be heard in a twenty mile radius "What's going on?" he asked quickly.

"Well, I just wanted to wish you a happy new year but, um, are you okay?"

He stalled. Was he? He wasn't a hundred percent sure that he should feel as much guilt as he did right now, whether it would even be an issue that he was talking to his ex. It's not like he and Scott were dating. What a ridiculous idea. He'd have absolutely no right to be jealous, but Mike had already come to learn that Scotts feelings about certain topics were completely unpredictable, and he didn't want to piss him off for real. It was only fun when he was pissing him off on purpose.

"I'm... fine." he said carefully, trying to convince himself that it was just the timing of the call that made it feel so scandalous "Oh, shit, it's new years, isn't it?"

"Um, yeah?" she giggled into the receiver "It's literally new years day. How could you not remember that?"

He scratched his head, unsure how that one slipped his mind. God, he was just such a mess right now. He took a deep breath, leaned one hip against the kitchen counter, found his cool again "Oh, I don't know. I've been, uh... busy."

"Mike!" he heard a shout from the hall and his heart nearly stopped, any semblance of calm gone in an instant. His first instinct was to hide the phone behind his back and just as suddenly there was Scott, loitering in the doorway, all sharp smile and smug energy, still buck naked like it was the most normal thing in the world. Where he got the confidence Mike will never know "Are you coming back to bed or what?"

"I, um," he stalled, sweating. He didn't think he could go another round even if he wasn't on the verge of a panic attack "I'm kinda fucked out, man. I wanna, like, shower and eat and stuff."

"Then why didn't you say so?" he frowned, hands on his hips "Whatever. We're out of food, I'm gonna go to the store. Let me know when you wanna practice sucking me off again."

Mike flushed darkly "Oh, so it's practice now? It wasn't practice twenty minutes ago when you were begging me to-"

Scott grabbed him by the hair and kissed him. There was almost a sweetness to it. Almost. When he pulled away he was grinning "Well, you are getting good at it."

"Oh, shut up." he shoved at his shoulder, fighting a smile himself "And don't you dare go to the store without me. When I got here all you had was loose potatoes and fucking Takis. I can't live off that shit."

"There was more in the fridge than that." he defended.

"Yeah but nothing you could use to make a normal meal for normal people." he rolled his eyes, remembering the 'potato stew' he'd endured the last two nights, the absolute peak of what Scott considered home cooking. It had just been potatoes and onions boiled in chicken stock. Edible. No further comments "Just go get dressed. I'll be with you in ten."

"God you're so fussy. Fine. I'll be in the van." he stalked off back into the bedroom, presumably to find some clothes. Mike watched him walk away and couldn't help but breathe out a sigh through his nose, almost wistful. He had... the weirdest feelings about that man.

Once he was out of earshot Mike turned back towards the window and put the phone to his ear "Sorry about that, I-"

He was promptly cut off by Zoeys laughter "O- oh, busy, are you?" she teased, borderline hysterical. He could picture the tears of laughter in his mind, had missed seeing her in good humour "You've definitely been busy, Mike."

"You're telling me." he blushed, rubbing at his aching jaw. Hadn't meant for her to hear any of that, but it's too late now.

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend. Tell me about him, what's he like?" she asked once the giggles subsided, genuinely curious.

"He's not my boyfriend." Mike said quickly. Boyfriend. The word made him feel sick to his stomach "It's, um, it's very new. Just a fling, really."

"Oh." she paused "That's a shame. I was going to say you should bring him to the wedding. That's the other thing I was calling about, by the way."

"O-oh, right. That is definitely a thing that is happening." in the excitement of his newfound thing with Scott he had almost forgot about that, wished she hadn't reminded him "Sounds like I'm invited, then. Should I save a date?"

"Of course you are! Pencil in the twenty first of June. Summer solstice." she gushed "It was Dawn's idea- I just think it's so magical. We're having a pagan handfasting ceremony, perfrormed by her uncle who's a certified druid. Isn't that cool?"

"Super cool." he affirmed, not understanding a word.

"She's just the coolest. It's gonna be all the way out on Vancouver Island since we're moving there and all, but I really hope you can come."

"That's doable." he said, already calculating the travel costs and how much he was going to have to skimp until then, how much he would have to mentally prepare himself to watch her walk down the aisle without having a full on breakdown "I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm so happy for you guys."

"Oh, Mike, you've really made my day." she cood, and his heart just about melted "I'll send you the link for the hotel when we hang up. But anyway, tell me about your 'fling'. Is he cute?" 

She giggled and Mike wanted to die "It's, um, really not worth talking about."

"Oh, come on." she persisted "I just want to hear that you're happy, too. Even if it's not serious. Tell me about him."

He stalled, tapping his nails anxiously against the countertop. She just wasn't going to let this go, huh? What was he supposed to say? I got the best head of my life last night but I'd trade it in a heartbeat to cuddle up on the couch and watch Bladerunner with you again.

Yeah, not appropriate. He thought about how to navigate this, how to simultaneously make her happy and put a permanent pin in the subject.

"Oh, I dunno," he started "He's just, um, a friend. It's not a big deal or anything."

"I think you're downplaying this, Mike. You two sounded so domestic."

"Domestic?" he recoiled, blinking into space. She was really misreading this whole situation- they weren't being domestic, not even close. What an outrageous concept "No, really, Zoey, we were just arguing."

"Sounded more like flirting to me." she giggled.

"Is that a joke? Cause it's not funny." he snapped, getting just that bit too worked up. Everyone was always out to get him in one way or another. It's like he was constantly the butt of some big cosmic joke he was never in on.

"No! I'm sorry, Mike, I just thought-" 

She sounded anxious now, any trace of good humour gone. Oh god, he'd done it again, he'd gone and made Zoey uncomfortable. The very last thing he wanted to do was upset her, and here he was, getting all weird and defensive over what he's sure she meant as just light teasing. And this was Zoey, not Scott, so he couldn't be reacting like that. He'd been spending too much time around the guy, getting too used to snapping and jabbing and constantly bickering to the point it was running over into his other relationships. It was a sudden realisation that maybe his newest friend was actually a terrible influence.

"No, wait, I'm sorry. Really, I'm sorry. It's just... a touchy subject." and it was. It really really was. Domestic. Flirting. Why did the idea bother him so much? Would it have made him feel the same way if someone other than Zoey had made the same implication?

"It's okay, Mike. I'll leave it alone." she sounds sad. It's breaking his heart "But, y'know, if anything changes, or you happen to meet someone special, you're more than welcome to bring a plus one to the wedding. I'll keep a seat open for you."

He wants to say that's never going to happen. Wants to tell her that there's no way anyone could be that special as to replace her, that he's never felt that way about anyone else in his life, that even if he brought someone along with him it would be an awful, shallow move, would feel more like a pitiful attempt to make her jealous than anything else. And maybe that's why he hasn't bothered dating again. Mike isn't like that- he doesn't want to have to make her jealous, he just wants to be wanted.

What he says instead is "Thanks, Zoey. That's really nice of you. I appreciate it."

It's hollow. His voice has gone monotone and he knows it. He wonders if maybe when he goes to the wedding- and he will go, no matter how painful it'll be- when he shows up on the day in a suit and tie with a well practiced smile and his most charming fake laugh, when she's there in her wedding dress, walking down the aisle, maybe she'll see him there in the crowd and wonder for a moment- what if.

He dissapears into a fantasy. The church in his mind is large and cavernous, the bleeding image of Christ too big and too prominent in the stained glass window that leaks rainbow light into his dream. Zoey stands at the altar, across from her is a faceless individual- it's not Dawn. It could be anybody. He doesn't care about them, none of it's about them. It's all about him and Zoey, and the bored looking preist that says those magic words-

"If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your silence."

And she looks at him. Looks him dead in the eye, and he feels something caught in his throat. He can't breathe. It's just him and Zoey bathed in rainbow light, immaculate and frozen in time, an all-consuming perfection. There's nobody else in this church but the two of them. Window Jesus weeps with approval.

"No problem, Mike." she says. He snaps out of it, dream dissapearing like water down a shower drain, steam filling the bathroom, the wrong arms wrapped too tightly around him "I'll let you go now, get back to your 'fling'." she giggled "And happy new year!"

"Happy new year." he said weakly into the receiver, tongue as numb and heavy as the rest of him.

She hung up, leaving him standing there, alone in time and space.

///

"So you're taking over my kitchen, now?"

Mike unpacked various items from plastic grocery bags, putting the appropriate things in the fridge and restocking the bare cupboards with what he considered essentials.

"It's not like you're really using it for anything." he griped "And I've already done your dishes, might as well do everything else."

"Jeez, why don't you just move in already." Scott rolled his eyes and Mike scoffed, glaring at him.

What a stupid thing to say. It made him want to throw up. Made him want to run straight out the front door and never look back.

"What's wrong with you? You're even bitchier than usual." Scott had told him, throwing a pack of low grade filter coffee into the cart.

He didn't answer, kept a white knuckled grip on the handlebar. Domestic, she had said. He leaned on the cart like a crutch, tried to keep focused on his mental shopping list. Maybe if he didn't think about it he could still enjoy the next couple of days, appreciate it for what it was, not think about the something more he needed. Not think about this overwhelming feeling of wrong wrong wrong.

He'd loaded groceries into the back of Scotts sketchy-ass van, the redhead talking his ear off about how stupid it was to buy your vegetables at the store, how you could basically find them anywhere in the wild if you knew what you were looking for. He was pretty sure that was bullshit. Had said as much, started yet another argument.

They stopped at the liquor store on the way back.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you." he snapped, more bothered by a throwaway joke than he had any right to be "If I started playing housewife so you could just keep not doing the bare minimum."

Scott smirked, sidling up to where he was unpacking on the counter and wrapped his arms around the middle of him, pressed his nose to the back of his neck "What, and have a hot peice of ass around to keep the place clean? Who wouldn't."

Mike blushed furiously, sick to his stomach. It was too close, too comfortable. He slapped away the hand that threatened to crawl up his sweater "Oh my god, don't say things like that."

"Shut up, bangmaid." he punctuated this by biting down hard on the crook between his neck and his shoulder, and Mike yelped.

"Oh, you're disgusting- get the fuck off of me." he shrugged him off and whipped around so they were face to face. Scott didn't back up any, grinning with his hands on the counter behind him like it was some kind of joke. Mike scowled at him and rubbed his neck where he was bit. When he looked he found his hand smeared with traces of red "Oh great, I'm bleeding. Thanks for that. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing at all." he said simply, eyeing the bitemark on his neck like it was something to admire.

He was standing too close. It was suffocating, breathing the same air as Scott. He felt boxed in by his arms, trapped against the counter, stuck here in the stark reality of what he'd gotten himself into.

And then Scott leaned up to kiss him, as if that's something Mike might want, as if he thought the disgust on his face wasn't real, just part of a joke that he didn't realise Mike was never in on in the first place. He shoved him away before he could make contact, maybe a little too hard for the situation. Didn't matter. It didn't matter because Scott didn't matter.

"I- Hey, what gives?" Scott looked genuinely confused, standing arms open and palms up, as earnest as someone like him could ever be. That wasn't saying much.

He was so ingenuine. So false here in the grey January daylight that leaked into the kitchen, that lit him up in dull tones, all sallow patchwork skin and hair the wrong shade of red.

It was a nasty revelation- he didn't want this. Didn't want him. Had had a lapse in judgement, infatuated by sparing compliments and the idea of something so different. But it was too different- this wasn't romance in any shape or form. He couldn't hold a candle to Zoey.

He'd had his taste of different. Decided it wasn't what he was looking for.

"What gives? Why are you even asking me that? You're being a total creep." he glowered, arms crossed.

Scotts jaw dropped "A creep? Fucking excuse me?" he threw his arms up "You spend the night in my bed and suddenly a little harmless flirting makes me a creep?"

"Harmless flirting?" Mike scoffed, looking away "Dude, you're way too much. Don't even joke about all this moving in shit- Whatever little fantasy you're inventing here I want nothing to do with it."

The redhead took a step back, completely bewildered "What the fuck, Mike? You wanted plenty to do with it when we literally spent the morning sucking eachother off-"

"Don't. Just- Don't get so comfortable about it. I'm not your boyfriend." he spat, glaring at the countertop.

The silence was palpable. He could feel Scott staring daggers at him but couldn't bring himself to meet his eye. If he looked hurt, Mike didn't notice. He didn't even care.

"Unbelievable." he muttered, grabbing his new pack of smokes off the counter "Unbe-fucking-leivable. Nobody said boyfriend, Mike. Nobody made you do anything."

The redhead shot him a dirty look as he stalked off out to the patio, presumably to smoke his gross fucking lungs out some more, and Mike was alone once again.

Chapter Text

His fingers twitched. He felt sick. Everything was wrong, and this whole thing was stupid, and he's so ungodly angry at himself for letting things get this far. He rifled through the last plastic bag on the counter, pulling out a bottle of red. He wasn't at Camerons place, didn't have to sneak around or hide anything, and he could really do with a fucking drink right now. He filled a mug with the stuff- Scott didn't own any wine glasses, typical- and knocked it back in one go. 

He contemplated calling a cab, packing up his things and just getting the next flight home. It'd take a little more out of his pocket than he'd planned for, but would be worth it to escape facing Scott when he came back inside. It's not going to go well, he thinks. But he can't do that- he's angry and confused and absolutely riddled with self loathing right about now, but he can't just go. He owes Scott at least the most basic explanation. He'll even try his best to be nice about it.

So instead of running away Mike threw himself onto the couch, curled himself up in one corner and poured another glass, leaving the bottle on the floor. Wine will make this easier, he thinks. He's on his third when Scott makes his return.

"Trying to drink ourselves stupid again, I see." the redhead spits, stalks into the living room to watch him wince as he downed another glass "I'm gone for twenty minutes tops, and you've drank how much?"

"None of your business." he asserted, tucking away the nearly empty bottle.

Scott snatched it from where he had stuffed it between the couch cushions "My house, my business." he hissed, and shook it, tutting "Normal people don't drink a fucking bottle of wine in twenty minutes, y'know."

"Like you'd know anything about normal people." he snapped back, glaring up at him. And he was planning a much more gentle let down, but the jab about his drinking habits set him off, he's fucking angry, and a little embarrassed, and what comes out is "I'm leaving. This whole thing was stupid, and terrible, and I wish it never happened."

Scott reels back like he'd been slapped, and for a moment it's kind of satisfying to get that kind of reaction out of him until his face turns- all bared teeth and animalistic rage.

With a noise akin to a snarl he threw the bottle at Mike, far too close and definitely too hard, but he ducked just in time so it went sailing over his head and hit the wall, smashing into a thousand little shards of glass, the last of the red liquid running down the plaster and pooling on the hardwood floor.

"Dude-" he started, looking back at the mess in shock.

"Shut up!" his attention was brought back to the redhead who was absolutely fuming, fists clenched by his sides. He went to say something but bit his knuckes, turning away like he might just explode if he dared spit it out.

Mike stared at him in disbeleif "Are you actually trying to kill me?" he demanded, sitting up straight "Just cause I don't want to-"

"I said shut the fuck up!" he pointed at him, furious "I don't give a shit what you want to do, fucking leave, I don't care. Just don't pretend you didn't like it, cause you fucking did. You liked it about eight times-"

"God, can you not?" he interrupted, standing up from the couch, didn't like the way Scott was hovering over him. Gave him more leverage than Mike was comfortable with "Sure, we did some stuff. It's whatever. That's not the issue here."

"Then what the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem," he started, leering forwards in a way that made Scott lean back "Is that you seem to think this is something it's not." he gestured between them "That this is going to be a- a thing. That I'd seriously wanna date you or something. You think I want to shack up with some lowlife who does nothing but bitch at me all the time? You're delusional. Pathetic. I can do better than you- I've done better than you. This is just an in-between. It was supposed to be for fun, but I'll bet you're stupid and desperate enough to go and catch feelings, cause honestly, who in their right mind would want you."

And suddenly theres a fist buried deeper in his stomach than he thought physically possible. It knocks the wind out of him, sends him falling to the floor, feeling like he might puke.

Mike seriously regrets drinking so much so quickly, the weight of the wine making him too slow to see the boot coming before it connects with the side of his head. The pain of it is blinding, radiating through his skull as he lays face down on the dirty rug.

"Delusional, am I?" Scott places the same heavy boot quare in the middle of his back, leans into it hard enough that Mike thinks his ribs might crack under the pressure "Says you, you fucking- You psychopath." he seethes. Mike can't see his face, doesn't think he could even turn his head to look without throwing up right now "We've been talking for months. You do stupid girly shit like check our starsign compatibility, you call me nearly every god damn day and you want me to beleive you don't even like me? Be for fucking real."

The boot comes off his back and Mike takes a releived breath in, just to have it knocked straight back out again as he's kicked in the ribs, forcing him onto his side. Mike holds his bruised abdomen tightly, wills his vision to stop swimming as Scott squats in front of him, grabs him by the hair to snarl in his face.

"You think you're so much better than me? You're fucking not. You're just some psycho loser who can't hold down a job, can't pay his own god damn rent- looks only get you so far, Mike, even Zoey figured out you ain't worth shit."

And that stings more than he thinks he meant it to "Don't talk about Zoey." 

Scott drops his head back to the floor in surprise, lets out the most sarcastic laugh, a short bark of a thing "Oh my god- that's what it is, isn't it? You're still so hung up on her. It's been years, Mike- how pathetic can you get?"

"Shut your mouth. You don't know me." he hauls himself up by the arm of the couch, ignores the ache in his gut "You don't know me like she knows me."

"Uh huh. Newsflash, asshole, she doesn't even want to know you."

He's so fucking smug, thinks he's delivered some kind of devastating blow, and he kind of has because Mike is so enraged he can barely focus. But he's also an idiot who has no idea what he's talking about, an idiot who attacked first and then let Mike go, as if he doesn't think he'll retaliate. 

"Quit talking shit." he points a finger, a little unsteady on his feet "You're so fucking jealous of her, it's sickening."

"Jealous?" he balks "Of what?"

He doesn't answer because he knows what. He can see it in the uncertainty on his face, the way his eyes shift to the side. It's exactly everything that made Mike so god damn uncomfortable- Scott has feelings about him. Wouldn't have gotten so worked up about calling it quits otherwise, and now he's doing little more than trying to save face by lashing out and saying anything he can to get under his skin.

And by god if it doesnt work every time. He'll show him. He'll fucking kill him. Mike lurches forwards, goes to grab him but misses by about an inch, Scott stepping back, finally showing just that little bit of wariness.

"What you gonna do, psycho?" he mocks. But he's tense, positioned like he's ready to run.

"Nothing good." 

Mike kicks out, hits him in the kneecap. It's hard enough that he goes unsteady and when he turns to run his knee fails him, goes sprawling to the floor. Too easy.

And he's on top of him in an instant, fist wrapped tightly in ginger hair as he slams his head down face-first into the hardwood floor with an audiable crunch.

Scott gasped, blood pouring out his nose "Ah, fuck-"

Mike flips him over with little resistance as he goes to clutch at his face "You broke my fucking nose." he whines, half choked by the blood in his mouth. It's not enough. It's not enough because he's still talking and breathing and Mike's going to choke him until he stops.

He wrapped a long fingered hand around his neck, and Scott's eyes snapped open wide. Let go of his broken nose, grabbed onto Mikes arm in a panic "Don't-"

Mike pressed down harder, hearing him choke as he cut off his air flow. Grit his teeth in concentration as desperate hands clawed at his own. Scott struggled beneath him, trying to twist away from his grip to no avail, turning slowly red, and then purple. Mike held him there, watched his eyes roll back into his head and flutter shut, saw how his attempts to escape weakened as his body started to go limp. Felt his pulse do something funny where his palm sat tightly over his jugular, felt his hips involuntarily buck up into where he straddled him-

It was out of pure shock that he let go "Holy shit."

Scott jolted upright, gasping for breath, clutching at his throat where Mike could see a clear imprint of his own hand. It would definitely be a bruise by tomorrow. The redhead opened his eyes, bloodshot and panicked, looked down between them where he sat hard as a rock, straining against his jeans.

"Shut up." he said preemptively, voice hoarse, looking absolutely mortified.

"You-"

"Shut up." he repeated, beet red. He kicked out, still weak in the limbs, but in Mikes shock at the situation it sent him falling back anyway.

They sat there for a minuite, Scott panting, trying to catch his breath, looking like he wanted to disintegrate on the spot. Mike didn't move. The absurdity of the event sent his mind reeling, rage replaced by confusion and a sick sort of curiosity.

"Okay." he said after a long while "Alright. That just happened."

Scott doesn't reply, just keeps staring at him like he thinks he might attack again. Mike takes a good look at him- his nose is at a funny angle and blood has dripped down far enough to stain the front of his shirt. Mike's familiar with this blood, has scrubbed it out of his jeans before. He feels less awful seeing it this time round. It was his own fault the first time and it's his own fault again- Mike doesn't understand why he keeps starting fights he won't win.

Except he does understand. He threw the first punch because Mike went and hurt his feelings, but that doesn't make it a less stupid thing to do. He actually feels kind of... bad. It's not Scott's fault they weren't on the same page, and really, he could have handled the whole thing better.

And the redhead is still sitting there, huddled in on himself like a wounded animal, bruised and bloodied and backed into a corner. He probably doesn't appreciate how this particular fight ended- if Mike popped a boner over getting choked out like that he'd probably die of embarrassment before the asphyxiation could kill him.

He sighs, tries to ignore the glaringly awkward elephant in the room, brings himself to his feet and offers his hand to the man on the floor. Scott comes back to himself once he realises the fight is definitely over, shoots his hand a withering look, turns his busted nose up at it and gets up without assistance. Okay then.

"I'm sorry." Mike tells him, always the peacemaker. It's difficult to get out, but he needs to say it anyway.

"You're sorry?" he repeats, like Mike apologising is somehow offensive "Why? I hit you first."

It's true "What, so that makes what I did okay?"

"What you did wasn't shit." he snarled, back to his regular prickly self like he hadn't just lost a fight in the most embarassing way possible "You didn't kill me yet, did you? Asshole. Pussy."

Mike squints at him, so god damn confused "I- What? Are you trying to start another fight or something? It's like you want me to kill you."

"I'd like to see you try." he countered, all bravado even with blood on his face.

"I just did, idiot." he snapped, rolled his eyes so hard they might fall out of his head "I was literally about to choke you to death. Your weird kink just saved your life." Scott goes red to the tips of his ears, pointedly looks anywhere but at him "But whatever. That's not what I'm apologising for anyway."

"Then what-"

"I'm sorry I hurt your precious fucking feelings okay? I'm sorry this isn't going to go anywhere, cause the facts are that I did lead you on, and I shouldn't have done that. I'm not over my ex and I'm a confused fucking idiot, so, bullet dodged for you I guess."

He throws his hands up. It's over. Scott stares him down for a little longer before he just sort of... withers. Like the fights been drained out of him. He turns away, slumps down on the couch in visible exhaustion and takes the pack of smokes out of his back pocket, doesn't get any further than that, just holds it in his lap, gaze fixed on the wall. Mike gets the feeling he might have made things somehow worse.

"Are you- You're not gonna say anything? Not even gonna argue with me?" 

"...No." he finally says, goes ahead and lights a cigarette "You were right."

"About what?"

"I'm delusional." the words come out cold around a hot cloud of smoke "Honestly. Who in their right mind would want me?"

And jesus fucking christ isn't that just so sad. It's wrong. He should be up in arms, trying to fight him about something, anything, spitting insults like it's second nature, but instead he's gone borderline catatonic and Mike is overwhelmed with a sudden surge of guilt.

"Okay. Okay, I shouldn't have said that." he cautiously joins him on the couch. This is going to be rough. Rough and fucking awkward "I didn't mean that, and it's not that I don't like you, cause I actually do- Like, we're friends at this point, y'know? And it was fun. Doing, um, stuff with you, and I'm only ending it cause, like, I think you got the wrong idea, and I shouldn't have freaked out so hard, and I could have been nicer about it. Or, at least not tried to kill you. Again." yeah, that wasn't his coolest move. He should make note not to let that become a trend "I'm just not ready for an actual relationship again, cause the last one I had was supposed to be it, y'know? And then it wasn't, and I'm not going to have an it, and even if I did it wouldn't be this. Like, this isn't relationship material." he waves a hand between them, and it's sad but true, because he has very conflicting feelings about Scott that he can't pin down for the life of him "I don't know what this even is."

He's quiet for a moment, seems to mull it over "You're a bitch." he finally says, and god is it so much better to be insulted than hear more self depreciating crap come out of his mouth "Screwing me around like this. But yeah, I get it. It's whatever. You can go now- Back to Toronto and your shitty warehouse job and whatever it is you used to do before you started calling me every god damn night, and we can just forget this ever happened."

And Mike stills at that, because no, that's not what he wants either "Do you... want to forget it happened?"

"Don't think I can." Scott leaned back into the couch "Got this reminder right in the middle of my fucking face, you see."

He pointed to his busted nose. He's weirdly handsome even in the aftermath of violence "I know. I'm sorry. It's not like I'm gonna forget about it either- we're still gonna talk and stuff." And he finds himself reaching over, threads a tentative hand through red hair. Mike likes his hair. He likes him.

There's blood in his teeth. It would be so easy to lean over just that little bit, find out what it tasted like.

He doesn't get the opportunity. It's probably a good thing- what a bizarre compulsion to have "Oh, are we?" he snaps, takes Mike by the wrist and rips the hand out of his hair "Cause I was under the impression this was over over. Don't want me getting the wrong idea." he rolls his eyes, and it's bitter and well deserved and Mike takes it worse than the punch in the gut.

"Oh come on," he pleads "It's not like I don't- as a one time thing it was-"

He's still holding his wrist, and the air smells like iron and sweat and whatever odd brand of electricity it is hanging between them.

Scott shoots him a funny look, waiting for him to finish his sentence. His expression is guarded, his nose is bent at a funny angle and Mike thinks he can feel the pull of the universe through the hand on his wrist. He's always had poor impulse control.

Mike leans in and kisses him. He gets about two seconds of willing compliance before being shoved away.

"Sorry." he says again, and he means it. Pulls his hands into his lap and sits rigidly in place like a scolded child. He doesn't even need to be actually scolded to do so. The redhead squints at him, mouth slightly agape, trying his best to figure out just what the hell is going on here.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, turned to fully face him "You just sat here and gave me this whole speech about how this isn't gonna work. We beat the crap out of each other not even ten minutes ago."

"You seemed to like that part." he pointed out, regretted it immediately as Scott slapped him upside the head "Ow."

"Will you shut up about that?" he snapped, eyes shifting to the ground "I thought I was gonna die."

Mike eyed him warily "What, and that's what was getting you off?"

"Oh for the love of- What's your problem, huh? I don't have to explain myself to you, we're not a thing anymore."

"Anymore?"

"Oh, fuck off. How can you even wanna kiss me right now? I'm bleeding. From the face. It's on your face."

He pointed to where a streak of red sat atop Mikes upper lip. He wiped it away, unperturbed "That's, um. Kind of part of the appeal right now, honestly."

Scott just stares at him like he can't beleive the words he's hearing, and Mike is partially in disbeleif that he even said it out loud. It's a terrible idea- he knows it's a terrible idea, and Scott's gone all shifty and uncomfortable in his seat like he's fighting himself on whether he wants this or not.

"You're a bitch." he says again, and his face is angry but he's still crawling onto his knees to hover over Mike on the couch, pushes him by the shoulders until he's more laying than sitting on it "You're a bitch, and a psycho, and I hate you."

Mike didn't get to respond, bloodstained lips suddenly over his own, and it's not sentimental and it's not romantic but it's good, and he wants it, throws his hands straight back into oily red hair to keep him close. Scott growls into it, pushing a little too hard, not caring in the slightest how his his nose mashed into the others, igorning the shockwave of pain that ran through his skull and down his spine. If anything it just spurred him on.

He tasted like iron. He radiated heat like the sun. Mike moaned, pulled him further on top of himself, felt lean muscular arms grip around his middle, held onto him like it was the last chance he'd ever have. Because it was, and he knew that, and if it's going to end here he's going to make it good.

Scott clearly appreciated it, licked his tongue into the other mans mouth, wrapped an arm around his knee and pulled their torsos tightly together so he could grind his hips into him. Mike startled at the feeling, threw his head back with a gasp.

The redhead broke them apart, put one sweaty palm over his face to tilt his head back further, nosed at the joint between his ear and jaw before not-so-carefully placing his teeth over the other mans neck. He bit down, just enough for the skin there to go taught between his teeth. It felt like a threat. Like a promise.

"Oh, jesus..." Mike held a hand to his lower back, pressing them together tighter, lost himself a little to the friction of it as he bucked his hips up to meet him.

Scott growled around his windpipe, pulled away. There's blood smeared across his face and in the heat of the moment he strikes Mike as absolutely feral.

"Who's fucking who?" the redhead asked, impatient.

"Oh we're- we're going there, huh?" 

"You don't want to?" 

"No, no, I just-" he paused, bit his lip as he looked at where Scott sat between his legs "I've never had anything up my, uh..."

"Okay." Scott kissed him again, quick and rough before removing himself entirely, hopping to his feet "You're fucking me then, cause I don't like you enough right now to make it good for you."

That was fair, Mike thought, the hurt intended in that statement nullified by the sick thrill of anticipation that ran through him "...Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Scott hauled him up off the couch, held his wrist tightly as he all but dragged him to the bedroom. Once past the threshold of the door he stripped off his jeans, kicked them off and turned back to Mike, pushed him up against the wall, met no protest as he kissed him again, all tongue and teeth and blinding heat.

"How, um," Mike started weakly as the redhead pulled away, forcibly removing his belt and pushing his jeans past his hips "How do you want me to-"

He cut himself off with a yelp as Scott bit down hard on his collar bone "Dude-"

"First off," he interrupted, held Mike by the shoulders and slammed him back so his head knocked against the plaster "Stop asking questions. If you don't know what to do then you shouldn't do it. This is a stupid idea anyway."

The daylight is fading behind the thin curtain across the room. It casts Scott in a dull outline, like the sort of halo you get when the moon is hidden behind the clouds. He can barely make out his eyes in the shadows and he doesn't understand why it would be so wrong to talk about it first but he's not going to start an argument about it now.

"My stupid idea." he mutters, ducks down to kiss him again, slow and hot and packed with a feeling he can't quite place. They're both naked from the waist down, he can feel Scott's erection rubbing against his thigh and all he can think of is getting closer.

"You're so fucking crazy." Scott breathes agaist him, tries to back off but Mike's got a death grip on his hips, holds them flush to his own so there's just barely that bit of ungodly friction- "How can you kiss me like-"

He cuts himself off with a moan as Mike sinks his teeth into the juncture of his neck, not hard enough to draw blood but definitely enough to leave a mark "Like what?" he asks softly, licks over the new indent in his skin.

"...Whatever." Scott pries his hands off of him, expression unreadable in the dark. He turns and makes his way over to the chest of drawers and rummages around inside, pulls out a little plastic bottle and chucks it at Mike before throwing himself down on the bed "Just get it over with."

He's sprawled out with his arms behind his head, bruised and bloody and surly as ever, readily on display like some kind of expecially fucked up pin up model.

Mike blushed, oddly nervous as he fiddled with the little bottle, as if he hadn't already seen him naked, as if this was entirely new territory. It felt new, that's for sure. He shrugged off his jeans where they pooled around his ankles, kicked them aside and stepped forward towards the bed.

"So, um, how do I-" he stalled, sweating as Scott raised an eyebrow. Right, no questions. Don't overthink it, just do.

He tries desperately to not overthink it. If he did any more thinking about this he was going to run however many miles in the dark directly back to the airport. It would probably be smarter than the alternative.

And the alternative is staring him down as he hovers anxiously above him, cold and impatient and looking as disinterested as someone could possibly be while waiting to get dicked down.

Mike kneels beside the bed, runs one hand up a pale leg before grabbing him under both knees and pulling him forward. It's enough to get an actual reaction out of the other man, anything is better than that bullshit apathetic expression. The smug grin on his face comes as a relief for once.

"Manhandling me now, huh?" he asks, sly, rests a knee over Mikes shoulder.

He doesn't reply, sits and fumbles with the little plastic bottle before slicking up a couple of fingers. He doesn't really know what he's doing, but it's not like he's unfamiliar with the concept. He's going to make this good. It has to be good or he'll probably die of shame afterwards. 

The first finger goes in easier than expected, makes him wonder what Scott gets up to in his alone time. The second one earns him a grunt- maybe he's moving too fast, he doesn't know.

And he has to ask "Is this okay?" breaks is eyes away from his task to find Scott not so much as looking at him, relaxed on the bed like this is the most normal thing in the world.

"I'd let you know if it wasn't."

"I'd rather you tell me it was." 

"And I'd rather you shut up and put your mouth to better use." he snaps, and it pisses Mike off, makes him feel small and stupid, but he complies anyway.

He licks a stripe up the underside of his cock, two fingers buried in him up to the second knuckle, and it draws a quiet moan out of the other man. It's more of a turn on than he'd like to admit, spurs him on to try a third finger. It's more of a struggle than the other two, just that little bit too tight but Scott isn't complaining, goes as far to grind downwards into his hand. It's unexpectedly hot. He leans up, takes the head of his cock in his mouth, runs his tongue over the perenium, something he'd already learned goes down well with his bedmate.

"Fuck-" And then theres a fist in his hair, and Scott's pushing him down further than he can reasonably go. He gags as it hits the back of his throat, shuts his eyes and lets him hold him there, focuses on breathing through his nose. 

The niceties of yesterday are gone, he thinks, breifly mourning the patience he'd been shown when they could still have been a something, but they're not anything, they're just here and now in a dark room with the promise of goodbye on the horizon.

His hand kind of hurts where it's buried in him, the motion presses his fingers together uncomfortably and he wonders how he's ever going to fit in there. The thought itself is as hot and heavy as Scott's breathing as he pushes his fingers in to the hilt. He can feel his own cock leaking onto the hardwood floor. He curls his fingers upwards, experimental, earns a noise akin to a whine as he strikes gold.

"Oh, fuck-" Scott pants, grinds down against his palm. The hand in his hair loses its grip "Just, god, just fuck me already."

He pulls off of his cock, wipes the spit off his chin "You sure?" he asks hesitantly, and when Scott finally, finally looks at him it's absolutely withering "Hey, look, I'm just trying to make this good for you-"

"Then don't get all girly about it." he snaps, shoves a foot in his face for good measure.

"Ow!" he recoils in disgust, still doesn't take his fingers out of him "Why are you-"

Scott leans forward so he's sitting awkwardly on his hand, grabs him by the hair again to all but shout in his face "Just fuck me, psycho!"

Psycho. He keeps saying it. It's almost like he wants-

Mike pulls his fingers out, maybe a little too quickly if the strangled noise he makes is any indication. Whatever. If he wants to play rough then Mike can play rough, there's no romance to be had here anyway.

He stands up, grabs Scott under the shoulders and practically throws him against the headboard, and, oh, he's not so sure of himself now. All wide eyes, startled at being lifted so easily, bites his lip in nervous anticipation as Mike crawls on top of him.

He finds the bottle of lube where it had been discarded in the bedsheets, squeezes some more into his palm. Slicks himself up, takes the underside of Scotts knee and pushes it up to his chest, leaving him very exposed.

He takes a good look at the man beneath him. Most of the blood that had been on his face was gone, rubbed off somewhere while they'd been busy. Mike wondered how much of it he was currently wearing himself. He lined himself up with his hole, heard the sharp intake of breath, snapped his eyes forward.

"You're really want it, don't you?" It wasnt so much a question as a statement "Tell me you want it."

Scott bared his teeth at him, blushing furiously "How many times do I have to tell you to fuck me, Micheal? I don't- Jesus!"

His back arched off the bed as Mike pushed into him, putting a solid end to whatever surely scathing remark he had planned.

"No, still just me." he just about managed to grin down at him, buried to the hilt and positively shaking with the strain of self control.

"Not funny." the redhead gasped, eyes fluttering closed.

He knew it was going to be a tight fit but he hadn't expected it to be like this. It was overwhelming. He shifted his hips experimentally and Scott practically purred, looking for a moment perfectly content in a way that made Mikes chest ache. The effect was ruined instantly when he opened his stupid mouth "Get on with it then, prettyboy."

Mike grit his teeth, backed nearly all the way out, paused, and then slammed himself forward, eliciting a shout. Whether it was pleasure or pain he wasnt too sure, but suddenly Scott was grabbing at his waist, trying to pull him further in, arching his hips off the bed like he needed it.

"You like that?"

"Shut up."

Mike shut up. Insenced, he drew back again and thusted in hard, set rhythm as best he could. It was unsteady, holding himself up with one hand pressed into the matress and the other keeping Scotts knee firmly against his chest. He felt a little too hot, wondered if the sounds drawn out of the man beneath him were earned through the sheer sensation alone or if they were especially just for Mike. The idea itself is a headrush.

But he can't be sure, because Scott's got his eyes screwed shut, one hand gripped tight in dirty bedsheets, gasping profanities with every thrust like dirty little prayers. And then he reaches down, starts touching himself, and it's so ridiculously fucking sexy Mike nearly blows his load right then and there.

But he's determined to see this through. He picks up the pace, swings a pale leg over his shoulder, just to see if this angle would-

"Oh, god, oh fuck, Mike," he whines, eyes snapping open, biting his lip as he watches where their bodies are connected. He lets out a ragged gasp as Mike hits something good, and the hand around his cock falters.

He's close. He must be close because his cock is leaking onto his stomach and he's got this wild air of desperation about him and then he looks up, and his face falls a little as they make eye contact.

There's something pleading, almost guilty in that look and he's flushing red as he grabs at the hand that Mike's using to prop himself up on the bed. The taller man leans back a little, steadies himself on his knees to let him take hold of it, almost thinks it's a sweet gesture until he pulls it up to wrap around his neck.

Oh.

He looks embarrassed. There's a bruise already forming from where he'd choked him before- his hand matches the outline exactly. It's not poetic and it's not romantic but theres a disturbing honesty to the way Scott's looking at him and even if this feels dangerous and wrong he's still going to give him what he's asking for. It would be somehow more wrong to do the opposite. Mike complies, leans his full weight on the hand around his throat.

Scott chokes, starts going even redder. His own cock is forgotten about entirely in favour of holding onto Mike's wrist, not trying to prize him off this time, the other hand flying up to grip desperately at the headboard. He pounds him harder, isn't sure how he feels about it as he starts to go weak in the limbs, for the second time tonight watches his eyes roll back into his head-

And then suddenly he comes, untouched. It's this insane full body shudder, muscles going tense and clenching impossibly tight around him as spunk shoots over his chest, back arching off the bed as he turns almost blue from oxygen deprivation, and then his body goes ragdoll limp.

It makes his blood run hot. He's never seen anything like it in his life. He has to remind himself to take the hand off his neck, less he actually choke him to death. He keeps going, doesn't break pace, wonders what on earth that felt like to him-

And it's with that thought that he comes, doubled over as his vison goes black. He moans, nearly collapses on top of him, just about holding himself up by shaky elbows as he pants into Scotts bruised neck.

He smelled like blood and sex. Mike pulls out after a minuite, very slowly, alarm bells going off in his head when he got no kind of reaction from the man underneath him. He propped himself up, looked him over.

Still breathing, thank god, face screwed up in an unnamable expression and one arm thrown over his eyes. He backed off, satisfied enough that he was at least still alive, rolled over and laid beside him, arms folded behind his head.

"That was, um," he started, mind reeling as his heart rate just about begins to slow down "That sure was something, huh?"

Scott said nothing, instead blindly threw his arm out to the side, felt around the bedside table until he found his pack of smokes, pulled one out. Lit it.

The coughing fit it caused sent him bolting upright, hacking and wheezing as he rubbed at his neck. Mike put a hand to his back in an attempt to somehow help but was viciously shugged off, an absolutely scathing look shot in his direction as the coughs subsided. The redhead winced as he laid back down, took another drag from his cigarette that went down a whole lot easier.

"You okay?" Mike asked, genuinely concerned. He didn't think he would be particularly okay after that, if their positions were reversed.

"I hate you." he replied, avoiding the question, voice absolutely raw "I fucking hate you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." he glowered, turned to the side with some great effort and curled up there, huffing smoke as he stared at the wall.

Mike just sat there, unsure what exactly he was supposed to do with that information "But um, was it... was it good?"

He received a dry snort in response "Fuck off, Mike." 

Chapter Text

2nd January, 2018, 11:45am

Mike busied himself in the kitchen, took the sheets out of the washing machine and placed them in the dryer. God knows when those were last cleaned. He had a headache like he'd been booted in the temple, which would be alarming if that wasn't exactly what had happened to him. The hangover on top of it didn't help any, but he'd had worse.

Scott had been up for hours now, barely looked in his direction all morning. He'd gone straight to sleep after last nights activities, or at least Mike assumes he did. He wasn't sure- Scott had kicked him out of the bedroom immediately after.

"Don't you fucking touch me." he snapped, shoved Mike away as the taller man tried to put an arm around him.

"I think I did a lot more than touch you just now."

"Uh huh." the redhead hauled himself out of bed with a grimace, steadied himself with one hand on the bedframe as he ripped the blanket off of Mike, pointing to the door "Doesn't mean you get to sleep in my bed. That's a boyfriend privilege."

It set Mike off "Oh, so you did think I was your boyfriend?" 

Wrong thing to say. Scott growled like a wild animal, aching body forgotten in his anger as he lunged forward, wrestled him down and held him steady to put his cigarette out on him.

He's embarassed to admit he'd screamed. It didn't take any more convincing to get the hell out of there.

Mike looks down at the weeping red mark on his forearm, recounting the agonising fifteen seconds it took for the ashes to fizzle out. It looked like if a bug bite had gotten infected, the blister already burst and cleaned out, a gaping little wound that never quite closed on its own. You had to wait for the flesh to regrow, for the skin to replenish itself and even then it would forever be just that bit pinker and shinier than the rest of him. Mike knows this, is familiar with cigarette burns. He has similar marks scattered across his chest and back, long healed over, left there many years ago by a different hand.

The idea of comparing Scott to his father makes him nauseous, so he doesn't go there. Distracts himself with mundane tasks, cleans the kitchen of a man who will not thank him for his efforts, doesn't even like him. Hates him, he had said.

And Mike doesn't blame him. He doesn't expect anybody to put up with his personal issues, and he didn't think it was all that unreasonable to be mad after getting shot down and then nearly choked to death. It would be weirder if he wasn't.

And yet... Scott had dragged him to the bedroom anyway, made himself even more vulnerable than he already had, let Mike see parts of himself that he imagined even long-term lovers might have issues sharing.

There's little left to hide, he supposed, after death has been thrown on the table.

It was a shame, he thought. That they weren't talking about it. A shame that he'd spent the night on the couch, woken up all by himself after what was the most... well, definitely not the best- the whole thing was strangely bitter, filled with an undertone of contempt. He didn't know sex could be depressing- but for sure the most intense sex of his life. It had been a bit of an eye opening experience for him. Never had anything like it, not even close.

It was a stark contrast to the romantic fantasies he'd had in the past, all of that seemed vanilla in comparison. Scott was... weird. Mean. A far cry from what he had ever imagined himself going for, but here he was, lamenting over the fact that that was it, he'd never have anything like it again. He's fairly certain he shouldn't have anything like that again- the whole thing was so messy and wrong and it was bringing out something in him that he felt was absolutely vile. Mike doesn't want to be the person he was last night.

He likes him. As an individual, and as a friend. He could spend a lot of time with Scott, wouldn't terribly mind getting back into bed with him either. He just keeps having the compulsion to hurt him, both physically and emotionally, and that's not normal and it's not okay and the sensible, logical thing to do is apologise, cut ties and move on.

So he's going to be sensible and logical, put yesterdays incident behind them and get Scott to accept his apology if it's the last thing he ever does.

Before he knew it he was pacing towards the workshop, determined to get the guy to at least look at him. He knocked, falsely polite, but politeness never gets him anywhere with Scott so when he gets no response he opens the door anyway. 

He was hunched over a work bench, fiddling with something that looked to Mike like just another random peice of wood. How he turned any of this junk into something worth looking at he'll never know. He glanced over his shoulder as the other man entered.

"Hey, I was just wondering if you-"

Mike cut himself off, narrowly avoided the projectile as it shot past him. When he looked back at the wall he saw a screwdriver stuck head first in the plaster.

"Dude. Stop throwing things at me. You're actually gonna kill me sooner or later if you keep that up."

"That's the point." he spat, turned back to whatever he was working on.

"...Okay." he can't think of a way to argue with that "Do you, like, wanna get lunch or something? You literally didn't eat anything yesterday, and you've been working in here for hours."

Scott pointedly ignored him, carried on with his work. It was infuriating. He just wanted him to pay attention.

"Hey, would you just-" he grabbed him by the shoulder, had his wrist snatched out of the air, held in a vice-like grip.

"Quit touching me."

"God, what is your problem? Let go, man." he shook the hand off his wrist and stepped back.

Scott just stared him down, furious. At least they're communicating, in some kind of way. Mike got a good look at him- his busted up face, the bruise blooming across his nose that was at a completely different angle to this time yesterday. Shit. He hadn't set it after it had been broken. His neck bore a dark purple splotchy line across it, green and yellow in some places under the fluorescent workshop lights. It looked painful.

"What's my problem?" he demanded, throwing his arms up "My problem, Mike, is that you are an asshole. You're psychotic. You wanna get lunch? Go fuck yourself. Just stay out of my way till it's time to go to the airport."

"You're still gonna drop me off?" he asked, received a stiff nod in return. Huh. From the way things were going he had figured it'd be him and good old google maps taking a lonely five hour hike. Maybe Scott wasn't as mad at him as he was letting on. He could always hope as much "Well, thanks. I appreciate it. And look, I just wanted to talk about last night, maybe clear the air a little? Cause honestly I feel fucking terrible."

"About what?"

"What do you mean about what? I tried to kill you."

"So? Wasn't the first time."

"Yeah but that was-" he stopped himself, ran a hand over his face with a groan "That was before we were, y'know..."

"Not boyfriends?"

The tension is so thick he can taste it "Yeah, that's the other thing I feel bad about. I just can't stand you saying you hate me, and I know you say it all the time but it sucks when you say it all serious because I don't hate you, I actually really like you as a person, and it'd be cool if we could just get along again cause, like, it'll probably be awkward for a little while but it's not like the sex was bad-"

"Says you." he spits, and it makes Mike pause. He's been staring down at some random peice of wood the entire time Mike's been talking, shoulders slowly bunching up to his ears in a defensive posture. He can't be serious. Mike was there, saw his reaction in real time.

"Oh, come on, Scott." nope. Not having that load of bullshit. He leaned against the workbench, putting himself back in his line of vision so he could see the anger plain on his face "You obviously liked it. You don't have to be embarrassed-"

"I'm not embarrassed about anything!" he threw down his tools, stepped away from the other as they clattered to the floor.

"Then what's the issue here?" Mike demanded, folded his arms across his chest. The well of patience has dried up, no matter how bad he feels there's always a limit, and apparently that limit is being told the sex wasn't as good as he thought it was. Go figure "It's like- sure, I tried to kill you a little, but apparently that isn't a problem cause you were practically begging me to rail you afterwards. 'Ooh, fuck me, psycho.'" he mocked, pretending to swoon.

"I did not say it like that." he growled.

"Uh huh, whatever. Just admit it was good, and I won't spend the next few hours trying to psychoanalyse whatever weird fucking kink you have where getting nearly choked to death puts you in the mood."

"Oh, do not go there." the redhead points a finger in his face "You're the one who wanted to bang after, it was your idea."

"And it wouldn't have even crossed my mind if you didn't literally pop a boner over it-"

"Will you leave that alone already? And don't think I beleive even for a second that you weren't getting some weird kick out of beating me up, the blood was part of the appeal, remember?"

Mike looks away, searches frantically for a comeback to that one "Well it didn't start out as a sex thing." he flounders, looks awkwardly at the ground "That was, um... I dunno, I'm still working it out."

"Didn't start out like that for me either, but maybe I've got a thing for total psychos who keep trying to kill me. I dunno, I'm still working it out." it's supposed to be sarcastic, he thinks, said venomously with a grand roll of the eyes as he turns and starts to walk away, but there's an edge of brutal honesty to it. It's not a particularly surprising revelation "Guess we're just so compatible, huh, Micheal? Shame you're a complete and total bitch."

The way he says Micheal honest to god makes him twitch. He's trying to figure out exactly what he's feeling right now as Scott exits the workshop "So, like, was it- Was it good then? For you?"

"Yes, asshole!" he shouts from down the hall, and while he's thrilled to hear it confirmed out loud it's a lot angrier than Mike wants it to be.

He stands there for a minuite, processing the conversion. So compatible. If they're compatible it's not in a good way. It's almost horrifying that he wants to chase after him, push the matter until he cracks and stops being so god damn mad about it all. As counterintuitive as it is to what he's already decided needs to happen he finds he wants to kiss him again till he can't breathe.

It's basic reverse psychology, Mike thinks. The second Scott wants nothing to do with him he's suddenly desperate for positive attention, but he's at least aware of that, so he won't be falling victim to his whims. Won't go grovelling. That's definitely not what he's been doing.

Despite his self awareness, Mike is not immune. He follows out into the hall.

"Scott." he called out.

"What." came the muffled reply from the bathroom.

"Stop being mad at me, It's- what are you doing?" the scene in front of him made him pause, both disturbed and far too curious.

The redhead was stood in front of the bathroom mirror, a dish towel held over his nose with one hand and a hammer in the other.

"Resetting my nose." he kept eye contact with himself in the mirror, angled the hammer towards himself. You'd never notice the slight tremble in his hand if you weren't looking for it "Shit." he pulled the rag away from his face, set it down to grab at a bottle of whiskey set on the counter, took a swig that made Mike wince.

"Hey, hey don't do that-" he went to snatch at the bottle but Scott held it just out of reach "That's a terrible idea. You haven't eaten in over twenty four hours."

"Oh, don't start. You are the last person who should be lecturing anyone about drinking." he took another swig, seemingly just to make a point "Besides, you ever reset your own nose? No? Fuck off then."

Mike eyed the hammer in the sink, feeling sick "There's no way you should be doing this drunk. You shouldn't be doing it yourself at all, actually. I can't watch this."

"Good. Get out of here then, it's a delicate procedure." he says, weilding both a bottle of whiskey and a hammer. Mike sighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

"No, no. I mean, do you want me to do it for you?"

"What, you wanna break my nose again?" Scott blinked at him, made a weird face "Is this, like, a fetish thing?"

"What? No!" he recoiled, face burning "Why the hell would that be a-" he swallowed "a fetish thing? Is that even something people are into?"

The redhead tutted, grabbed his dish towel and placed it back over his face "I dunno, Mike, you tell me. You're the freak who wanted to lick the blood out of my teeth."

"Dude. It was a heat of the moment thing, don't make it weird."

"It was already weird." he picked up his hammer, glared at himself in the mirror "Either way I'm not gonna just let you break my nose whenever you want. Sets a bad precedent."

"Oh god. Oh god you're really gonna do it." he fretted, bit at his knuckles with a bizarre sort of anticipation.

He watched Scott steel himself, breathe a little too heavily as he angled the hammer just so, saw it come down hard. The sickening crunch was far less satisfying than it had been last night.

He didn't react the way Mike was expecting- He didn't shout, didn't curse over the pain, just grunted as he pulled the rag away to reveal his nose even more mangled than it had been before, blood dripping down his chin.

"Why are you still here? Shows over." he shot Mike a glare before rifling through the medicine cabinet, aquiring tape, a half used roll of bandages and a tongue depressor that he snapped in half.

"Didn't that hurt?" Mike asks him, bewildered. It had looked like it hurt.

Scott rolls his eyes "Yeah, I guess. As much as it could do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs "You ever been mauled my a shark, Mike? My nerve endings are fucked. Like, totally fucked. So don't think you could hurt me, because you can't, and if you try it again I'll maim you."

He ignores the last part of that statement because, honestly, Scott is talking out his ass on that one. But he'll let him believe he could win against him in a fight if it makes him feel any better.

He's far more perturbed by the revelation that Scott doesn't feel. Well, he doesn't think he meant that he doesn't feel at all, gets the gist that it's probably just a dulled sensation. He wonders what it's like, to not be sure of the level of pain your body is experiencing. It sounds dangerous, and says a lot about his willingness to throw himself into fights without a care for how he comes out the other end.

Mike studies him, watches as he places the little peices of wood either side of his nose, the way he grits his teeth as he pushes the splints together, popping the cartilage back in place so it sat straight and centre on his face.

"You just gonna sit there and stare at me?" he snaps, startles Mike out of his thoughts.

"Yeah." he says softly "Don't mind me. I'm just worrying about you."

The redhead scoffed, didn't bother to look at him as he triple checked the angle of his nose "Well don't. Nobody worries about me, and I don't need them to."

Mike felt his chest go tight "I'm gonna run you a bath." he muttered, turning away to fiddle with the faucet.

"You're what? Why?" Scott asked, watching him through the mirror as hot water streamed into the tub.

"Cause you could use one."

"Rude." he grit his teeth, placed some tape carefully across the brige of his nose.

"Not like that." he rolled his eyes, straightened back up "You're all fucked up, you should sit in the tub for a while. Even if you can't feel it- You should still let your body rest instead of working yourself to death."

Scott turned to glare at him, scowl bending the bandage now fastened cleanly over his face "And who's gonna make me?" 

Mike folded his arms, met him with a glower "Me. I'm forcibly taking care of you until I go home. It's literally the least I can do, seeing how I fucked everything up already. What do you want for dinner?"

He didn't have a comeback for that, apparently. Just stood there blinking at him, eyed the bath as it filled with hot water. His face even softened a little before he turned away with a huff.

"I don't care. Make some fucking spaghetti, I guess, you stupid, Italian jerk." 

Scott stormed out of the bathroom, pulling out his pack of smokes as he did. Mike found himself smiling. For some reason he felt kind of giddy, like he was getting away with something he shouldn't be.

He didn't want to like him. He really, really didn't.

Chapter Text

He'd probably been in the tub for over an hour if the temperature of the water was anything to go by. It had been steaming when he got in, damn near erased the ache in his lower back, released some of the permanent tension from his shoulders. Makes him wonder why he never bothered with more than a quick shower- he feels spending such a long time sitting in water and essentially doing nothing is impractical, but he spends plenty of time smoking cigarettes and staring into space, so maybe he's a hypocrite. Maybe he should cut down on wasted time and start doing all three at once.

The blood and sweat he'd accumulated on his skin over the last twenty four hours had been washed away. His hair felt actually clean for once. He hauled himself out of the now lukewarm water, dried himself off with his one permenantly slightly damp towel and threw it back on the rack. He pulled his dirty jeans straight back on, even though that felt a little gross now, but he didn't want to draw any extra attention when he left the bathroom. The last thing he needed to do now was go and flash Mike.

Oh Mike.

What a beautiful fucking basket case that man was. Shame he was also an oversensitive, indecisive, psychotic god damn bitch. 

He exits the bathroom and the whole apartment smells like tomatoes. Scott doesn't particularly care for tomatoes, doesn't think a hell of a lot about what he's eating at any given point. He'd be just as content digging a handful of frostbitten dirt out of the ground and calling it a day, but stupid fucking Mike wants to make him dinner. Now that's a waste of time if there ever was one. He cares for time wasters even less than he cares for tomatoes, and the huge glaring waste of time this whole experience has been has his stomach tied in knots.

Either that, or he's just ungodly hungry. It's been a while since he last ate and he can feel his system growling at him, neat whiskey sitting uncomfortably in his gut. He loiters in the kitchen doorway, watches this lanky freak hover over a pot on the stove, mumbling to himself as he adds pepper and herbs and all kinds of shit to the food that Scott would never think twice about.

He's impossibly tall, handsome in a classical way. Got a face like a Roman statue, like the way they would describe the leading man in his dear old mothers trashy romance novels he definitely shouldn't have been reading. The type of guy just about anyone could fall for.

Scott hates him.

He hates him more than he thought he was capable of. It's a hatred born of self loathing and shame and the impossible fact that someone- anyone could get under his skin in this way, let alone someone as stupid and sappy and useless as Mike. That's not to say he doesn't want him to stay. Because jesus fucking christ does he want him to stay, it would fix everything, it would mean he hadn't wasted months letting himself get invested in someone who only thinks of him as a friend. What an insult. There's good reason Scott doesn't have friends, and that's because he doesn't want any. There's no way he'd spend so much time and energy on people who serve no purpose. His capacity for the pointless art of friendship starts and ends at small talk, and anything beyond that indicates a level of closeness reserved for people special to him. He'd somehow let Mike become special to him, and that's unforgivable.

He isn't the type to catch feelings- he's actually very pointedly the opposite. But now he's standing here breathing as quietly as possible in his own home so that he can take the opportunity to stare longingly at the man in his kitchen, play pretend that this moment, this image in front of him was his new normal, that Mike wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and that they would carry on bickering and fucking and playing silly little mind games without a care for whether anything was serious, and it wouldn't matter that he wasn't Zoey, perfect fucking Zoey who never did a bad thing in her life and could kick Mike to the curb and still have him pining after her all these years later.

He wants Mike to feel that way about him, is almost aching to have that level of dedication from somebody, and isn't that just the most embarassing desire anybodies ever had. It's a sign of weakness, he thinks, to want companionship. To want to rely on anything other than yourself, because at the end of the day yourself is all you really have, and it's delusional to think otherwise.

Scott doesn't need anyone. Never has. And he'll work through this stupid blunder and convince himself once again that he's perfectly content in being alone, is committed now more than ever to the fact that he will die alone. He revels in it. It's a staple of who he is- this little indiscretion has only cemented the fact. And if Mike wants to run him baths and make him dinner and do all this confusing, counterintuitive sappy shit then he'll let him go ahead and make a fool of himself, and when he's done he'll kick him to the curb even quicker than Zoey did, prove to him that, actually, he doesn't care. That he doesn't have feelings to be hurt, and maybe then that'll show him that he doesn't get to screw people around like this. Not people like Scott, at least. He's far too clever for this bullshit.

He slips away silently, heads to his room to put on a shirt, because if he stands here any longer he's going to be overcome with the urge to throw something, which would indicate he still has feelings on the subject, and letting Mike know as much would be completely unacceptable.

This is a new experience for him, a different kind of low. He'd never had anyone tell him that he wasn't the problem, let him down apologetically. The kind of breakups he'd endured had mainly consisted of yelling, cursing, being called cold or weird or just plain mean, people he got on with for a week or so ghosting him once they got to know him a little better. And that was somehow easier- there was good reason for it, and the reason was always him, and that meant he could turn around and recollect himself and write it off as another person he just wasn't compatible with.

But Mike already knew him. He knew him, had first hand experienced his mean streak long before anything got any kind of intimate and decided he liked him anyway. Liked him, but didn't want him.

And isn't that just the icing on the absolute shit of a cake that this whole experience has been. Mike didn't want him. Fuck.

It's so embarrassing. It's the fact that he ever thought otherwise that eats him up inside, because why the hell would he ever let himself believe he could be wanted? Good things don't happen to bad people. He knows this. He's known it his whole life- good things just aren't meant for someone like him.

And It's that deplorable fact that had Scott dragging him back to the bedroom for the most intense, shameful, self-loathing-riddled sexual experience of his life, because god damn it if he can't get what he wants out of the guy he can at least have that. Good things don't happen to bad people, but he can have bad things dressed up as good things and the mindless gratification of animal fucking is going to have to be enough.

He'd like to do it again. He'd like to reverse their positions and do unspeakable things to that gorgeous unhinged bastard until his mind snaps clean in two and he can't tell which way is up anymore. He'd tell Mike this, if there was any inclination of a future between them, if a repeat would mean anything to him beyond a casual hookup. But there isn't, it wouldn't, and Scott intends to reserve that level of effort and intimacy for someone who actually deserves it. Someone who wants to stick around, who would appreciate him for who and what he is.

But that's never going to happen. Not for him.

So he resigns these fantasies to living solely in his mind. He gets dressed, feels the cold deep in his chest despite having just warmed himself through in the bath, so he dons an old plaid shirt, red and green and made of a thick woollen material, the kind a lumberjack might wear. And it feels better. He likes that he feels covered up, isn't a hundred percent sure why he wants to hide himself from Mike, now, after everything he'd already seen. Maybe he feels like he saw too much. Maybe he feels like he's wildly overshared, and that Mike doesn't deserve to see him or know him or ever so much as speak to him again. What he deserves is a lift back to the airport, a purposely neutral action to prove the point that Scott wants to make- You can't hurt me. You cant make me feel anything. Get out of my life and go back to your own.

He exits the bedroom, ready to encounter Mike again in the quest to get the hell out of this stifling little apartment that smelt too strongly of home cooking. He wants to go sit on the porch, ignore his guest until it's time to send him home and chainsmoke until his lungs ached worse than his heart.

Scott storms through the kitchen, pointedly kept his eyes on the back door, but didn't get away unnoticed.

"Hey," Mike turned to catch him, did a bit of a double take, blinking at him like an idiot "Did you- did you wash your hair?"

He subconsciously went to slick it back, found it fell immediately forwards into his eyes again. Annoying "What's it to you?"

"It's all," he gestures randomly to the top of his own head, struggles to find the word "Fluffy."

Scott shoots him a withering look. What a stupid, unnecessary observation. He carries on towards the door before he's stopped again "Hey, wait," and Mike has dared put a hand on him, grip loose in the sleeve of his plaid shirt. He eyes it like the offence it is until it's sheepishly snatched away.

"What."

"I, um, dinners basically done, I just need to boil pasta. And I was wondering if you could do me a little favour? If you don't mind?"

Scott says nothing at all, just stares him down, gets a little kick out of the way it makes the other man fidget in place. If he has the nerve to ask him for a favour he can sure find the nerve to spit it the hell out already.

"...Alright." he starts after a long moment "Just, um, I wanna go shower, and if I'm gonna shower properly that means I'm gonna go away for a bit. It's a miracle I've been me for this long, actually." he sniffed at his shirt, the same one he'd been wearing for four days now. From the face he made Mike clearly thought it was pretty gross. Scott didn't think much of it at all "Could you maybe try and get Vito to put on a shirt? He gets all weird about it, as if he doesn't get the pilots seat more than anyone else up here." he tapped his head.

Scott had... kind of forgot that was an issue. Kept forgetting he was up close and personal with someone who could be considered a psychologists wet dream. He was so caught up in whatever the hell was wrong with Mike in general that his disorder had sort of slipped to the sidelines. His curiosity gets the better of him.

"Uh huh. Whatever. Go use my shower then, I'll talk to whoever comes out."

"Okay, thanks." he hovers awkwardly, one foot turned to exit, seems so unsure of himself "You, um." he starts, points at his chest "You look nice in red."

It's so unprompted, feels wildly inappropriate after everything that's gone down "Fuck off." he snaps, storms towards the back door, desperate to just get the hell away from this asshole. Mike doesn't try to talk to him again.

He assumes he's gone to shower. He doesn't care, just goes and sits out on the porch, still steaming a little from the bath in the freezing January air, huffing smoke as he looks out at the frost that suffocated the grass around the building. His hands feel empty, the nicotine not doing much to releive his tension, so he pulls out his whittling. It's at least something else to focus on.

He has a hard time focusing on it. Mike had an awful way of playing with his feelings. Someone had once told him he liked to send mixed messages, and it was true- He liked to keep people on their toes, but when he did it it was intensional. The way Mike went about things seemed so thoughtless, unplanned and messy, like his mixed messages were the product of truly not knowing what he was doing. He wanted to kill him, and then he wanted to fuck him. This was terrible, I wish it never happened. I really do like you, y'know. You're not what I'm looking for out of a relationship. You look nice in red. 

He wasnt entirely sure how long he sat out there, stewing over Mikes inconsistent bullshit, but eventually he heard something crash back in the kitchen behind him. He went to put out his fourth cigarette of the session, found the ashtray ungodly full, gave up and chucked it off the edge of the porch before going back inside.

He was met with the sight of Mike, or not Mike, he supposed, rummaging around in one of the kitchen cupboards, grumbling to himself, completely ignoring the porcelain shards by his feet where a mug had fallen to the floor. He looked up as he entered.

"Hey, you. With the face." he gestured to his nose "Where the hell am I?"

The prominent New Jersey accent was a bit of a trip. If he were in a better mood it might have made him laugh.

"Calgary." he says simply.

"Calgary?" he reeled back, confused "Awh, Mike, what the fuck." he rubbed at his forehead "Why are we in Calgary? I've got places to be. People to see. Where's the sambuca?"

He continues rifling through the cupboards, getting more and more agitated as he didn't find what he was looking for. He's fascinating. Scott's absolutely burning with curiosity- it's even more of a shame he never wants to see Mike again,  because he's just discovered a fun new game called playing with his alters.

"I don't have sambuca. Mike bought like six bottles of wine though, if that'll do. Do all of you guys drink like fish?" 

"What? That bastard promised me sambuca!" Vito abandones his search, ignores his question entirely to storm off into the living area, found Mikes bag and took out his wallet, grouching all the while "I'm not bringin' a god damn bottle of wine. Yo, give us a lift to the airport? I can still make my new years party if we go now."

Scott paused at that, carefully eyeing what was essentially a stranger in his home "New years party? Um." he raised an eyebrow "It's January second."

Vito froze, his jaw dropped "Oh that son of a bitch! Aah!"

He didn't have time to stop him before he'd put his fist through the wall, dust and plaster spraying out into the living room "Hey, what the hell do you think you're-"

Vito whipped around, grabbed him by the collar with a bloody fist "Can it, scarface." he snarled, pulled him close enough to be menacing "Mike promised I could go to my party. You're telling me he hasn't changed his god damn clothes in four days? That weasel will do anything to spite me, huh? Hey, wait," he paused, squinted down at the redhead, a look on his face like processing a complex thought was painful for him "Where do I know you from? I'm gettin' that day-ja-voo shit over here."

He stalls, doesn't want to answer that question, especially when he's being held threateningly by the collar at the hand of Mike's notorious Italian superstrength alter. He's unsure if Vito was ever aware he was on television in the first place. He wracks his brain for a way to get on this guys good side, or at least get him to let go of his shirt "Oh, I'm... a friend of Anne Maria's?" 

"Ahh, that's it." he lets go just to snap his fingers, grins at him, all traces of aggression suddenly gone "What a gal, huh? Shit, I gotta call her, I've been gone too long."

This guy is... alarmingly dumb "Yeah, she's a real peach. Don't have time for that, though, I need to talk to Mike."

Vito pulls a face, clearly offended. He turns and stalks off towards the door, shoulders hunched and gesturing wildly with his hands "Mike Mike Mike, everybody always wants to talk to Mike. The fuck you wanna see that loser for? You bangin' him or somethin'?"

Scott didn't have a ready response for that one, hadn't expected that question even in jest and it was clear by the way he froze up like a deer in headlights. Vito paused in the doorway, looked back at him when the silence had stretched on just that bit too long.

"Ugh." the Italian cringed, taking the startled look on his face as confirmation "Unbelievable. Lousy fuckin' Mike- never gets girls, can't cook for shit, bangin' some freak with a busted up face."

He found his voice again just as Vito made his exit, waltzing out shirtless into the freezing January air "Hey, where are you-"

The slam of the door was his only answer. 

///

Scott couldn't sleep. He'd tried Mike's mobile a few times but had given up after it kept going to voicemail. He could only assume Vito was screening his calls. 

He'd made the damn spaghetti. Overcooked the noodles to mush and thrown sauce on top, eaten about half of it before it started to make him feel sick and instead opted to go stess-smoke on the patio. He didn't get what the hype was about, why Mike would bother making time consuming food when everything always tasted grey anyway. He didn't get why Mike did pretty much anything that he chose to do.

Or why he himself was still awake past midnight, pacing around the apartment like a worried mother hen, fretting over Mike- Vito- who the fuck ever as if they couldn't handle themselves, as if they weren't a full grown man who when the stars aligned just wrong was more than capable of putting Scott six feet under.

He fucking hated him. He wanted Mike to fuck off out of his life and never look back. He wanted some kind of magic spell to erase his memory of the last few days- hell, the last few months. But mostly he just didn't want to feel like this.

It was an awful way to feel. Made all the worse by the way his whole body lit up with releif when he finally got a call back at 2AM.

"Scott? Oh thank god you're awake- I don't know- I don't know where I am and-"

"Yeah, yeah, just relax, will you?" he grumbles, already slipping on his jacket.

///

He'd picked up Mike from outside a dive bar in the city centre just a little past three, shivering in the cold and wearing a strangers ill-fitting button up shirt.

"Thanks. For, um. For coming to get me." he'd said awkwardly, huddled in the passenger's side of the van, willing some warmth back into his bones.

"Don't mention it." he didn't ask for an explanation. Wasn't offered one.

There was no point going to bed now, for either of them. Mike had booked with the cheapest shittiest airline possible and had a 6am flight on the horizon, so it was a matter of heading back to the apartment, picking up his things and then a trip straight back to the airport so he could check in on time.

Scott was sick of driving. It was somehow both too late and too early, a pointless all-nighter pulled for the sake of this nutjob in the passengers seat. He didn't do this kind of shit, very much appreciated his sleep and liked to stick to his routine, but Mike had a terrible way of disrupting the life he had carved out for himself. He couldn't wait to be rid of him.

So it was a tired, miserable drive to the terminal, punctuated with contant yawning and Scott trying very hard to stay awake at the wheel. This was going to fuck up his work week, he thought. Too much time already wasted on shit he'd rather not think about and too many projects he'd let himself get behind on. But he didn't think he should be so much as driving in this state, let alone operating heavy machinery, so he was going to bed the second this was over- his clients could wait an extra day or so.

Mike was unusually quiet the whole drive, slipped out of the van wordlessly when they pulled up into the terminal bay. Scott got out with him, took the opportunity to lean up against the side of the van and light a smoke, just to releive some of the bizarre tension he was feeling.

"So, um," Mike stalled, running a nervous hand through his hair as he glanced over his shoulder at the terminal behind him "Thanks for driving me. And, uh, having me over and stuff. Sorry. Again. For... everything, I guess. It was, um, nice to see you?"

Scott can't help the dry snort that escapes him. He doesn't reply, instead opts to stare Mike down again, enjoys the awkward way he stands there, hovering on the edge of saying something else to fill the silence. He's still so pretty, Scott thinks, even with unkempt hair and bags under his eyes like twin bruises, tired and shaking in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. He hates him all the more for it.

"I guess this is goodbye." he starts talking again, because of course he starts talking again. He can never just let things be "Am I- are we still friends?"

Friends. It's laughable. He's got this anxious, hopeful look on his face, as if he actually cares what Scott thinks of him. As if the title of friends would mean a god damn thing.

He pretends to think about it, as if he hadn't already made his mind up about where they stand with eachother, drawing out the moment just to make Mike that little bit more uncomfortable. He blows a cloud of smoke in the taller mans face "We were never friends." he tells him plainly "I'm not interested in being friends with you."

Mike looks like he's been slapped, and it's a hollow victory. Scott hopes that that petty truth hurt him even a fraction of how much he's hurting himself.

"Okay." he says, takes a breath. He looks so god damn miserable "Okay. Should I... not call you, then?"

Oh, the audacity "Go fuck yourself, Mike."

He throws his cigarette on the ground, still glowing orange-hot, and climbs back into the van, exhausted and weary and ready to crawl into bed and never get out again.

And it's not a satisfying ending, but it's what's happened anyway. Scott knows that eventually he'll get over it but in the here and now his chest aches with mourning for what could have been- the idea that he could have had something good.

Mike's still standing there when he pulls away, a tall and lonely figure in the dim light of daybreak. He catches him in the rearview mirror, one hand raised in a silent goodbye. He catalogues that image in his memory, the last he'll ever see of him, burned so deeply into his brain that once he finally gets home, gets to go to bed, that's the picture that plays behind his eyelids.

Chapter Text

15th January 2017, 10:42AM

Cameron tiptoes up to the couch, hovers silently for a moment before working up the nerve to clear his throat.

No acknowledgement. Typical, if not deeply concerning.

Mike's been back for a well over a week now and, quite frankly, has never been worse. He hasn't said a word about his trip, even when pushed for answers, and Cameron's reached his breaking point.

He's despondent. Hasn't cooked in days, barely even showered except the one time he did, when Vito waltzed around the apartment displaying a litany of bruises and what looked like bite marks scattered across his torso. It raised a lot of questions- he'd obviously been up to something shady and wasn't willing to share the details. In fact he'd barely said a word to Cameron since he came home.

And he was absolutely sick of it. He's been spending time at his mothers condo more and more often, can't bear to be here when all Mike does is lay around and stare at the ceiling. His only respite from this bizarre behaviour is when Mike goes to work, but when he does he comes home worryingly late and reeking of booze, barely even trying to hide it at this point. He knew full well that Mike didn't follow his rules, never did in the first place, but he's aware that his friend has a host of personal issues and it was tolerable when he at least pretended to. This near constant state of catatonic drunkenness, however, was not.

Cameron's been looking for a good opportunity to talk to him about it all, needs some straight answers or he's going to lose his mind, but he's never been good at confrontation and quite honestly Mike is scaring the absolute hell out of him, and it's not fair that he's now always walking on eggshells in his own home. He'd rather it was just Mal. He'd rather it were any of his alters- one note personalities that he knew how to talk to, had scripts worked out for to get whatever he needed out of them, but this was Mike, a real and complex human being who was currently beyond the scope of Camerons emotional range.

And he's just laying there sprawled out on the couch, eyes open and dead to the world. Mike is the first real friend he ever had. It makes him unbarably sad to have reached this point- this point where he just can't stand to be around him anymore.

He clears his throat again, louder this time. Still nothing. In his frustration, he manages to find his voice.

"Mike. Look at me."

It takes a good ten seconds, and yes he's counting, before his friend lifts his head from the arm of the couch. When he meets his eyes they're far away and glassy, like he's barely in there.

"Oh, hey, Cam." he says, monotone "What's up?"

Cameron takes a deep breath, wills his nerves to subside so he can say his peice "Are you open to having a conversation?"

"Is this... not a conversation?"

"I mean a serious one, Mike."

He perks up at that, comes back to himself a little, goes as far as to shuffle around on the couch so that he's at least sitting up "Okay. I'm all ears."

His face is still blank and there's very little inflection to his voice. It doesn't seem like he's ready for this, but from the way he's been acting Cameron doubts he'll be ready anytime soon, and he's been preparing for this confrontation for days now. He's been building up to it for months, honestly. It was just never the right time.

But Cameron is ready to take life by the reigns, and he refuses to be uncomfortable in his own home.

He starts off easy "I need you to tell me what were you doing over new years."

"Nothing." he says too quickly, blinks like he's been shocked and then rubs at his eyes like he's exhausted already, like he hadn't crawled out of bed only an hour ago "I was, um, I was just visiting a- someone."

"Right." he pushes further, wants his answers "And did that someone give you all those bruises? Or, were you involved in some kind of incident? Tell me what happened, Mike."

He stalls, jaw slack, and then sinks backwards into the couch like he could dissapear into it if he tried hard enough "He came out worse." he mumbles.

It raises so many more questions than it answers. It doesn't even answer the actual question- barely makes sense. It makes his nerves flare up all over again "So... what happened?"

Cameron wishes he'd brought his notebook. He's got a file on Mike a mile long, has the compulsion to add to it whatever new information he can glean from this interrogation because quite honestly this is the strangest he's acted in a very long time. But this isn't a case study and he can't be too clinical about it- his friend is an emotional creature by nature and needs to be handled delicately.

Well, maybe not too delicately he thinks, seeing as Mike doesn't answer, opting to instead stare at the wall "Mike."

"Hm?"

"Are you going to answer the question?"

"What question?"

"Are you- Are you even listening to me?" Cameron squints from behind his glasses, genuinely annoyed now "Seriously, what's the matter with..."

He trails off as he notices the bottle half-hidden under the couch. It's a nasty reveal, a direct breach of trust, and after all he's done for him over the past year it pushes him over the edge.

"You're drunk." he states plainly, a sinking feeling in his chest as he finally accepts that his friend is beyond his capacity to help "It's the morning, you've been up for an hour, and you're drunk."

Mike frowns at the coffee table "What about it?"

It's shocking, the level of disrespect. Cameron's just about ready to explode "What about it? Mike," he pleads, throwing his arms up "I have one rule for staying here, and you keep on breaking it. You're somehow getting worse- I just, I can't keep watching you hurt yourself, and my mom keeps asking if I know which neighbour is smoking pot on the balcony all the time and I know I never say anything but, between us? I'm fully aware that it's you, and I can't stand to keep on lying to her. You're doing something sketchy, I just know it, and you won't even talk to me, and-

- and I think you should move out."

And that, that finally gets through to him. Cameron can see the panic in his face, the way he desperately tries to sober up in an attempt to salvage the situation.

"Cam, that's not- You can't just- What the fuck?"

"Don't swear at me." he asserts, and Mike shrinks in on himself.

He stalls for a moment, trying to come up with something, anything to say "I'm sorry. Im sorry, okay? I didn't mean to- I'm just going through something right now, but it'll pass, and we can go back to normal-"

"I don't want it to go back to normal." he admits, rubs his arm as he looks away, can't take the pleading stare Mike's directing at him "I want my space back. It was supposed to be a month tops, remember? But its been over a year now, and I just don't see how I can help you any more than I already have."

There's silence between them. Cameron hopes to god that it's filled with an understanding. That he won't be too upset.

"And, y'know," he continues awkwardly "I know Toronto's expensive, so I wanted to give you the deposit for a new place, a-as a gift. And of course there's the standard thirty days notice, I'm not some evil landlord, you've got plenty of time to figure things out, and-"

"Thanks, Cam. That's real nice of you." he inturrupts, voice far away. Mike doesn't look at him, instead lifts himself up unsteadily from the couch and makes his way to the guest room, shuts the door gently behind him.

Cameron lets out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. He'd meant for the whole thing to be more of an actual conversation, not a straight jump to kicking him out. It feels wrong to call it that- he can't let himself feel too bad about it, because he needs to rip off this bandaid for the good of them both. He's pitied Mike too much for too long, and if he lets himself back down now they're going to end up keeping this unfavourable living situation indefinitely. After all, he's had a year.

He comes back out a few minutes later with a suitcase and a solemn air about him. Walks directly to the kitchen and pours himself a too-full mug of lukewarm coffee, downs the whole thing like it'll bring him back to life. Some of it runs down the side of his mouth, and as he wipes it away they make terribly awkward eye contact.

"Y'know, it's kinda funny." he starts, pours himself the rest of the pot "I really don't have any more stuff than when I moved in. Makes it easier to get back on the road, at least."

Cameron eyes his suitcase "What, is that- Mike. You don't have to go now."

"No, I kinda do." he sounds sad, but at least he's not angry "I get it, Cam. You wanna get back to your normal, and I'm not a part of that reality. I'm not gonna hang around for another thirty days just to worry about where I'm gonna go."

"But you could." he argues, feeling worse by the second about his decision "You could look for your own apartment, or roomate listings on craigslist, or-"

"Cam." he stops him "It's fine. Like, really, I don't wanna be somewhere I feel like a burden. I'm just gonna... go. It's for my own good."

"Where?"

Mike shrugs, like the thought hadn't occurred to him yet "I dunno. Might go park up by the harbour, it's pretty there."

"Okay, no, because you are not good to drive-"

"I'm fine." he snaps, starts on his second cup of coffee but has to set it down. He looks like he's about to be sick "I promise, I'm fine."

Cameron wrings his hands together "Well I can't- I can't physically stop you, but, c'mon Mike," he sends him a pleading look "You know that's not a good idea. I'll worry about you."

He gets this faraway look on his face, and his mouth twitches upwards at the corner, the first threat of a smile in days "Well... don't. Nobody worries about me, and I don't need them to."

And with that he goes striding for the door. Cameron follows him, puzzled "Hey, that's not true. Plenty of people care about you, you know- me and Zoey and Anne Maria and-"

"I know, Cam, and I appreciate it, but I can't rely on that forever. I mean, I've been relying on you for so long and look where that got us. I don't blame you for wanting me gone, I've gotta figure out my own shit, y'know?"

He ignores the cuss this time, just walks with him all the way to the parking lot under the building where Mike throws his dishearteningly small bag in the back of his car. He can't beleive that that's really all of his worldly possessions in there. It's almost cartoonishly sad.

"And I'm sure you will, but that doesn't mean you have to leave immediately. There's no time constraints on working through your problems." he reassures, hopes that maybe he can convince him to at least look at other options before he chooses life on the road again.

"Except there is, and apparently that's thirty days." he says it without malice, but it makes Cameron feel bad anyway "Really, I'd rather just bite the bullet. You don't have to feel guilty or anything, I think we could probably use a break from each other. I'll see you at Zoeys wedding?"

"Yes, I'll definitely see you there. But you could always stop by for dinner, you know. This isn't a goodbye kind of goodbye." he tells him as he folds his lanky figure into the drivers seat of the rusty little car "And I'll send you that deposit- just text me your bank details."

Mike sighs as he starts the engine, letting the car warm up before he takes it out into Canadian January "Don't do that. I don't want your money, Cam- Like you said, how could you help me more than you already have? You'd just be enabling me at this point."

That's fair. He can understand that Mike doesn't want any more of his pity "Okay, well... I'm glad you're so determined to figure things out by yourself. It's admirable of you."

"Yeah, whatever you say." he buckles his seatbelt "And, um, just to make sure..."

Cameron waits for him to continue, but he's gone all far away again. It's unsettling, so he promts him with a gentle "Mike?"

"Are we, um," he grinds his teeth, looks for a moment like he might cry "Are we still friends?"

It makes Camerons chest ache "Of course we are, Mike. You're my first real friend- Nothings going to change that." and he looks so releived, lets out a deep breath and glances up to the garage ceiling like a silent prayer.

"Okay. Alright. Um, one more thing." He's got a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel as he says it "I know about your file."

That was not what he'd been expecting. Cameron feels himself go pale "O-Oh?"

"I'm not mad." he quickly reassures "It's been really helpful, honestly. I, um, I like to read it when you're out. It's kinda nice that someone cares enough to document whatever the hell's wrong with me." he lets out a self depreciating laugh "And I just- As someone who knows me- Like, really knows my head-"

"Do you think I'll get better?"

There's a long, tense stretch of silence. Cameron's heart breaks a thousand times over.

"Definitely." he lies through his teeth "I have no doubts about it."

Mike nods, a steely determination in his eyes "Thanks, Cam."

They say their goodbyes. Mike drives away, no destination in mind.

///

Mike doesn't know what to do. He has work tomorrow. He's newly homeless again. He hasn't felt quite this low in a long time, and his reality just keeps on collapsing around him. Even when he thinks life has hurt him as much as it possibly could it finds a way to kick him in the teeth all over again. He wonders if this is all there is for him- End of the world after end of the world.

He's on the verge of Mal coming out. It's always when things hit their lowest, when he can't handle his own feelings anymore, that he worms his way to the front. The funny thing about Mal- he seems to like it when things go bad. He's every part of Mike that snaps, every part that's prone to hatred and violence personified, and sometimes he thinks that if he didn't have this particular alter then that would just be him. They're all him, in a way, but out of all of them Mal hits the closest to home. He's the realest, the first and most fleshed out personality outside of Mike's own. So he can't get to front, because he can and will ruin Mike's life even more than it already is, will probably get them arrested again.

So he does what he did last time he nearly had a Mal break. He'll get a break from someone else, someone more trustworthy. He goes to the nearest thrift store he can find, and purchases himself a hat.

///

When he comes back he's sitting in his car, parked outside a gas station he doesn't recognise. He's freshly showered, feels like he's eaten recently and the gas tank appears to be full. It's such a releif- he can always trust Manitoba to keep things functioning when he can't. He's always been tougher than Mike.

He checks his phone- it's the 26th of January. God, he's been out for well over a week, that's the longest he's been gone in a good while. There's a note folded on the dashboard.

Wakey wakey! Nice to be out and about but you're right, Mikey- you've got to sort your own shit. Rundown: Met a real cracking girl, spent a few days at her place, so if you get any weird texts asking why you ghosted someone you never met there's your reason! Your phone's fully charged, got you an extra battery pack just in case. There's rations and snake wine in the boot, and a sweet machete under the passenger's seat. Don't get pulled over. Oh, also, I got us fired. The warehouse gig wasn't worth our time anyway. Best of luck! - MS

Okay. Okay, maybe he can't trust Manitoba with everything- he's now slept with a stranger, has no idea what snake wine is, and he's out of a job to boot. He might feel physically better, for once not a trace of a hangover about him, but that doesn't alleviate the worry of what the future holds for him now.

It seems like everything sort of just... happens. Decisions about his life have been made without his input, and suddenly he's free of everything that ever tied him to Toronto.

He'd moved there when him and Zoey got their first apartment, when she was going to art school and he was working random jobs. He'd liked the city well enough, stayed local even after they split up (he won't ever admit it out loud, but maybe that had something to do with the hope of getting back together), and then eventually moved in with Cameron. But now Zoey didn't live there anymore, Cameron had kicked him out, and he didn't have a job he had to show up for. There was nothing keeping him there. There was nothing keeping him anywhere- no family, no friends left to turn to, not a single tie to this earth.

It's... depressing. Freeing. Terrifying.

He needs advice. He needs to be told it's going to be okay, but there isn't anyone to tell him that. The last person he leaned on for emotional support now hates his guts, never wants to talk to him again. He's alienated himself from pretty much everyone he knows and cares about.

It's funny- he never realised Scott had become his emotional support until they suddenly weren't talking anymore, when he really didn't have anyone to talk to at all. It's absurd that someone so purposely antagonistic could become that for him, but maybe a little tough love is what he needed all along. Cameron certainly seemed to think so. He doesn't beleive that Scott ever bothered to think about what he needed, he just is who he is and whatever brand of assholery he brought to the table somehow worked.

Mike misses him. He's been missing him for weeks. He's a voice in his head that never shuts up and even if he doesn't necessarily want to date the guy there's nobody in the world he wants to talk to more. It's paradoxical and unnerving and incredibly frustrating that he can't think of a way to get back what they had before he'd taken the dangerous leap into a physical relationship. He wishes it never went that far. Even if Scott had never wanted to be his friend, that's what he was to Mike, and he wants that back more than anything.

He's got to find a way to drag him back in. It's so, so stupid of him to feel that way, but after months of having Scott as a presence in his life it was almost earth-shattering to have that taken away. And maybe that's how he'd felt when Mike rejected him. It would make sense- he feels terrible now. He has no idea what it'd take to make that better, but he's got nowhere to be and nothing to focus on, so he can at least take the time to figure something out.

He wonders where he should go now. It promts the question of where he currently is- he takes out his phone, checks his location on google maps.

And he's... about ten miles outside of somewhere called Whiteshell, parked up just east of the Ontario-Manitoba border.

Oh for the love of- Typical. That's just typical. At first he's angry, stewing with rage over the fact the alter he trusted most had not only thrown him for a loop with his sudden unemployment, but had also woken him up left in the middle of god damn nowhere. But once that passes he thinks, hey, maybe Manitoba's got the right idea. He didn't want to bum around Toronto anymore anyway. There's no place to call home now, so why doesn't he go find one?

Mike starts the car. The tank is full and there's plenty of daylight left. He'll drive until he finds what he's looking for.

Chapter Text

Mike drives, and he drives, and while he drives he thinks. He drives until he gets tired and parks up on the side of the highway, eats cereal bars and tinned fruit, a perfectly reaonable meal as far as his rations go, and sleeps curled up in the backseats of his car. He's lucky he still has his super insulated sleeping bag from his last stint of homelessness- the weather's in the minuses during the daytime and the nights are damn near deadly. And when he wakes up he makes coffee with the battery powered kettle he keeps in the boot, and then he drives some more.

It turns out 'snake wine' is exactly what it sounds like. He's horrified the first time he sees it, a real dead animal in a glass bottle filled with murky ash-brown liquid, but after a while his curiosity gets the better of him. He tries it- It tastes like dirt. He's not sure if it's even legal, let alone safe to drink, so he doesn't touch it again.

He passes through Regina, Saskatchewan, and picks up more supplies. Refills the tank, buys himself a twenty-four pack of cup ramen, and takes some time to explore the city.

He's never been to Saskatchewan. There's not a hell of a lot here. Most of the drive in this part of Canada has been through prairies, flat open feilds and miles and miles of nothingness. Sometimes theres buildings he can see from the highway- mostly gas stations, but now and then he spots something that looks like a farm in the distance and wonders if this is the kind of view Scott had from wherever it was he grew up. It seems so empty. He doesn't like the idea of it.

Regina is kind of cool, though. He spends one evening at a bar, meets a girl with red hair and pretty eyes who very nearly offers to take him home before she gets too close and smells him. He's been himself for about five days now and hasn't found an opportunity to bathe yet. He's got to fix that, he thinks, if the disgusted look on her face is anything to go by. His half joking request to go back to her place and use her shower is met with a very firm no.

It's not the end of the world. The end of the world has already happened, and Mike finds himself surprisingly okay with it.

So he doesn't find a home in Regina, and he keeps on driving. He finally decides on a destination- He's going all the way to Vancouver, and he's going to stare at the ocean until he gains some clarity on what to do with his life. He's never seen the pacific. Plus he's heard the city is already overrun with homeless people, so he'll fit right in.

At some point the sun gets low in the sky and Mike feels the need to stretch his legs, so he pulls over on the side of the highway and gets out of the car.

He's surrounded by cornfields. It reminds him of that movie about a town run by children, where all the adults are long dead and the laws are made up by twelve year olds. He takes a bottle of wine from the boot of his car, real wine, pointedly ignores the way the dead snake in the other bottle is looking at him and walks out into the corn.

He brings the machete- Feels like a real life explorer, hacking down rows after rows of towering maize and pretending they're vines in some imaginary jungle. Feels like a little kid again, short in comparison to the corn, making up his adventure as he carves a path of his own design.

Mike didn't have much of a childhood. Can't even remember most of his childhood. Sometimes he thinks that's a good thing- what he can remember he doesn't appreciate.

He stops in his tracks when he sees it. A scarecrow, dark and looming and blocking out the winter sun. It's not menacing- creepy looking for sure, with no features adorning its burlap sack face and clothes half rotted off from likely years alone out in the field, but he kind of likes that it's here. 

Sometimes Mike feels like a bit of a scarecrow, in that he seems to scare off everyone he knows one way or another. He managed to freak out Zoey enough with his wild moodswings and night time dissapearences that she just couldn't handle being his person anymore. He's been scaring Cameron for a while now, probably for longer than he realised, and it's only fair that his friend had had enough of his contant dark-cloud sort of presence. He thinks that maybe he should be out here instead, strung up on a great wooden stick and exposed to the elements, let the change of the seasons have their way with him until his clothes rot into his body and his face is weathered into something flat and featureless.

They're one and the same, he thinks. So he raises his bottle of wine in silent salute to the scarecrow and sits at the base of it with his back leaned against the pole. It's always better to drink with company.

He isn't sure what to do with himself, so he takes out his phone. He doesn't have an internet connection out here, wherever he is, but he's got one bar and a drumming noise in his head despite the quiet of his surroundings. He scrolls through his contacts list, nearly to the bottom, and chews at his lip as he hovers over his name, staring at the screen like it might jump out and bite him.

Scott was never scared of him. Not after the first time he beat him up, and not after the second time when he really tried to murder him, either. He wasn't afraid for his life, just honest to god angry about being turned down. And it's not romantic in the slightest, kind of psychotic really, but the fact alone that the redhead could still want him around after all of that was- 

He didn't know what it was. But he'd been abandoned for a lot less.

He takes another swig of wine. The sky is getting darker by the second, and he's half-cut when he works up the nerve to call him.

The phone rings and rings, and for a moment he thinks it's going to time out. He wouldn't blame him for not picking up. It's probably insane of him to even try calling in the first place. Until it isn't, and-

"What in the ever loving fuck do you want?"

Mike's heart skips a beat. He'd barely expected an answer, hadn't thought at all about what he was going to say. He looks up at the orange sky through the lines of corn and what comes out of his mouth is-

"Do you ever watch the sunset and think of me?"

"...Seriously, Mike, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

And he laughs, has this big dopey smile on his face "Oh, so much," he readily admits. It's just so good to hear his voice "More than you'll ever know. What have you been up to?" 

"Absolutely none of your business." is the answer he gets, short and snippy and in no mood for a polite catch up "You better have a fucking good reason to be calling me. Are you dying? I hope you're dying."

He ignores that last part just like he ignores that Scott obviously doesn't want to hear from him. Why is he calling? Mike stands up off the floor "I miss you." he starts, swings around to face the scarecrow, like this inanimate object is who he's having the conversation with "I miss you so bad." he takes another swig of wine "It's all I'm thinking about."

"...I'm blocking your number."

"Hey, wait-"

He's cut off by the dial tone, and the one stationary note is deafening over the quiet of the cornfield. He doesn't beleive him at first, goes to call again just to test his theory, but he has in fact been blocked.

And then it's just him and the scarecrow, two lonely figures in the rapidly fading twilight, and for a moment it's like that's all there ever was. His chest aches. He's never felt stupider.

Because he's just some freak alone in a cornfield in the middle of god damn nowhere, weilding a machete and pining over a man who wants nothing to do with him. A man who wanted plenty to do with him before he went and ruined it with his own weird hangups. He desperately wants to know what he can do to make Scott want him again.

Because... he wants Scott. In whatever capacity he can get him.

And isn't that a kick in the teeth. All that fuss, the paranoia, the not being ready to move on, just to come to the conclusion that he doesn't need to be ready. He wasn't ready to be homeless again and that's working out just fine. He's almost enjoying himself.

And he still doesn't necessarily want to date Scott- that's not what it ever was, at least not in the same way as his previous dating experience- it isn't a white picket fence kind of dream. It's a dream of being accepted for who he is as of here and now, and there's nobody else he can think of who'd be up to the task.

Scott isn't afraid of him. He's just mad. And that's fixable.

"Good talk." he tells the scarecrow, reaches up to pat the thing on the back before leaving it to its duties, makes his way back through his path cut in the corn.

///

29th January 2018, 11:54am

He's back on the road the next morning. It's a mission of driving west- west until he reaches the end of west, until there's no more road and he can stare out at the endless void of the Pacific. It's the best destination he can think of.

But there's another mission in mind, and he wants a little clarity on what exactly he's trying to do, because really, when he acts on impulse terrible things seem to happen. Like getting his number blocked. Like getting into yet another altercation with a guy he'd much rather be getting in bed with.

He can think of a whole one person in his contacts list who might talk it through with him without judgement. Okay, so she probably will judge him, but that's fine, she's still the most unbiased person he knows.

"Vito, baby!"

It brings a genuine smile to his face to have someone happy to hear from him, any part of him. He's got the phone on speaker, sitting in the holster on the dashboard where he usually uses it as a GPS. He doesn't need a map anymore, just follows the highway.

"No, just Mike. Sorry to dissapoint."

"Oh." there's a beat of silence "That's weird."

"Is it?"

"Uh, yeah." Anne Maria takes on an annoyed sort of tone "You don't call me. Vito calls me. And I got a bone to pick with you."

"Uh oh." he says, remembers the last time they spoke, back at the reunion when she'd only been trying to help "Look, I'm sorry I was rude to you, I was just going through something and-"

"No, no, that's not it. I'm fully aware you were having a... moment."

"Okay, so... what'd I do?"

"Just tell me, Mike," she starts "Why I have to hear from Vito that you're seein' somebody? You think I don't wanna hear about what you're up to? Like, I thought we used to be close. And he said this guy was a friend of mine, and you and me don't have any mutual friends outside the show, so I can't beleive you left me out of that kinda juicy gossip."

Oh. Oh. Fucking Vito and his big stupid mouth.

Mike thinks he could work on being a better friend. He just keeps losing them after all "I'm sorry, Annie. It was kind of a... secret? That's actually what I'm calling about right now." he pauses, feels his face turn hot "Did Vito say who it was?"

"No." she says, and he sighs in releif "Just that it's a he. Hell of a curveball, that was. I didn't even know you liked men."

"Well I don't exactly shout about it. Don't really hide it either." he shrugs even though she can't see "That's not weird for you, is it? I know you talk to Brick, and he's pretty open about-"

"Yeah that's the other thing." she inturrupts "My first thought was Brick, but he's got this thing goin' on with Jo at the moment, and I straight up asked him if he was two timin' with you cause wouldn't that just be the drama of the century, but he said he wasn't, and I can't think of any other guys from the show you really get along with." she tuts, thinks for a second "You didn't start some messy... thing with Cameron, right?"

"What? No!" he objects, deeply uncomfortable with the idea "He's my best friend- and I'm pretty sure he doesn't feel that way about anyone, let alone me."

"Okay, okay. Good. But who is it then? The curiosity is killin' me over here."

He avoids the question "Why was your first thought Brick? Like don't get me wrong, I like the guy, but we never exactly had chemistry."

"I reckon you two could have chemistry." she defends "I know he ain't a male model or nothin', but he's a really good guy, and I think you and him would at least make a better couple than him and Jo."

"Eh, you're not selling me on that one. And actually I'm gonna need you to elaborate on that." his inner gossip lit up with a cheeky grin "Those two seriously got together?"

"Kind of. It's a complicated situation. But quit talkin' me in circles, Mikey, I wanna hear about who you're seein'."

He sucks in a breath, tightens his grip on the steering wheel "Okay, here's the thing. I'm not actually seeing him anymore, and that's a problem for me."

"Oh, so I only get to hear about it after it's over? You expectin' me to pick up the peices?"

"No, no, it's, um," he pauses "I actually wanted advice on how to... win him back?"

He feels so stupid as he says it. Anne Maria seems to agree "Oh not this again. How many people gotta tell you, Mike? Once it's over its over, and you gotta move on. Can't go clinging to things that just don't work out, you hear me? It's not healthy."

"Oh, come on," he whines. He doesn't think much of anything he does is particularly healthy "It's not like with Zoey. It's a completely different situation- I dumped him for a start. Or, um, more just informed him we weren't actually together?" 

"Okay, so what's the deal? You suddenly wanna go steady with the guy?"

"Not... really?" Mike thinks for a moment, searches for the words to explain what the hell it is he actually wants "I would, if that's what he wants from me. I don't really wanna label it, because I can't think of any label that would fit what it was we had going on. But now I'm thinking maybe the label doesn't matter, and it would be totally fine to be boyfriends in our own way. Like, it doesn't have to fit societies expectations of what a relationship should look like, we can just do our own thing, and that's cool- Great, even, because conventional dating hasn't really worked out for me so far anyway. Does, um, does any of that make sense?"

"...Barely." she replies. At least she's listening "Y'know, Mike, I'd have a lot better idea of what's goin' on if you'd quit bein' so cagey about it and just told me who this guy is. I do know him, right?"

"Can't we just pretend you dont?"

"Nuh uh, I'm not helping you with anything until you give me a name."

He'd fully expected to make this reveal, but that still didn't make it any easier to say out loud. The whole thing seemed so much less weird when nobody knew about it "Alright, just, don't judge me, okay?"

"Mike. I was ready to accept that you were cheating with Brick. Nothing you could say will surprise me."

"Okay." he pulled over on the side of the highway, ready for the drama to unfold "It's Scott."

There's a tense silence.

"Are you- Are you for freakin' real?" and she sounds so much angrier than he was expecting "Mike. Last time I saw you two in the same room you stabbed him."

"I didn't stab him." he snaps, immediately on the defensive "He fell on his own knife. He was trying to stab me."

"You think that makes it any better?"

He groaned, ran a hand through his hair "I thought you said nothing would surprise you."

"Surprised? No. What I am is horrified- You're seriously tellin' me you're sweet on that asshole?"

"He's not that bad." he insists "I don't have to justify myself to you."

"Hey, you're the one callin' me askin' for advice. And if you want my advice, I'll tell you to put that can of worms back wherever the hell it came from, because I am nowhere near ready to hear about whatever messed up thing you got goin' on with Scott."

"The worms are already out, Annie. The worms are everywhere." it sounds stupid to his own ears and he cringes as he says it, but doubles down anyway "And there isn't a messed up thing anymore. That's kind of the point. I'd like to go back to the messed up thing."

"Oh my god." she mutters into the receiver. He can hear her pacing around wherever she is "Oh my god you've totally lost it."

"I lost it a long time ago." he snaps, and it's true. He tuts as he leans back in the drivers seat "God, if I knew you were going to be this judgemental I wouldn't have called."

She's quiet for a minuite before letting out the most exhausted, world-weary sigh he's ever heard "Okay. Alright. So you wanna win over Scott for whatever reason. Tell me what you like about him."

It's a perfectly reasonable question, but suddenly Mike finds himself floundering trying to answer "I, um, I just- He just sorta works for me?"

"How so?"

"Well, like sure, he's mean and weird and- and kind of gross, actually, but-"

"But he's funny, whether he's trying to be or not. He's got his own business, and his own place, and he's like this real life adult who seems to actually know what he's doing most of the time, which is wild, cause you'd think from the way he acts and dresses and stuff and the way he was back on the show that he'd be more of a bum than I am, but I think he's a lot smarter than people give him credit for. And he doesn't sugarcoat stuff, just tells me like it is, talks me through my shit like it isn't shit at all. Actually, I think I could talk to him about literally anything and he wouldn't freak out about it. It's just so refreshing being around somebody who can handle my crazy. Like, somebody who's just as weird as I am, y'know? And, honestly, before it all went sour that was the first time in a long time I didn't feel... lonely."

And it's true. He's so tired of feeling lonely.

"Huh." she says after he's done rambling "That's kinda sweet, Mikey- You might actually be sellin' me on this, even if it is weird as hell."

"Great." he tilts his head back, talking to the roof of his car "So, what can I do to get him to like me again?"

"Easy. Go tell him all that stuff you just told me."

"Um... Okay." he stalls, pointedly doesn't tell her that he can't do that, that his number is blocked. It'd only paint him in a bad light "And then what?"

"What do you mean and then what? And then you have nasty make-up sex or whatever. You two bang yet or am I jumpin' the gun on that one?"

"No, we did." He admits, has a breif flashback, is glad he's alone in the car as he feels his face flush red "It was... pretty insane, actually."

"Oh god, I bet it was, and not in the good way. I do not want details."

"Wasn't gonna share them."

"Good. Now go win back your man, and keep me in the loop this time, okay? This is the best drama to come out of that stupid tv show yet."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll let you know how it goes. But, um, can you promise me something?"

"Depends what it is."

"Just- can you keep this under wraps, for now? This is probably going to go terribly, and I dont really need anyone to know I fumbled Scott."

"Hmm." she hums in agreement "Yeah, that is a new kind of low."

"Hey, come on, he's not that bad."

"I was only agreein' with you. But yeah, I'll keep it on the hush-hush."

"Thanks Annie, you're a diamond." he taps his fingers against the steering wheel, feeling a little more certain of himself "Oh, one more thing?"

"If you're about to ask me for sex tips I'm gonna hurl."

"No, I- Ugh." he blushes furiously, glares at the phone like she could feel it if he tried hard enough "It's not that, I don't need that." he insists "I just wanted an opinion- like, should I go after him? Do you think I could actually make this thing work?"

He hasn't mentioned the nasty parts. Avoided telling her about his newfound homelessness, doesn't want to deal with the pity. Purposely talked around the parts where they beat eachother senseless, where Mike snapped and tried to kill him. He thinks if she knew about that it would be a hard no. But it's not lying, it's just omitting certain incriminating information. Just leaving out the parts she wouldn't understand.

She pauses, thinks about it for a moment "I cant answer that for you, Mikey. Just tell me this- does he make you happy?"

"I-" He thinks back through it all, every interaction he's ever had with Scott "Yeah. I mean, we argue a lot but he sorta argues with everyone, and it's different with me, like its mostly for fun. It's like- It's kinda like when a cat just hates absolutely everybody but picks you out specifically, wants your attention over anyone elses. And it's nice. He makes me feel... special?" he feels the tips of his ears go red "God that was so fucking gay, pretend I never said that."

She's snickering at him and he wants to dissolve into the fabric of the car seats "No, you definitely just said that."

"Moving on," he asserts as her laughter dies down "I don't think I make him very happy."

"Who cares if he's happy? It's Scott."

He can't help but snort at that "Rude. I kinda care. That's sorta the whole point."

"Aww." she coos, and it just makes him feel even sillier "Then I don't see why it couldn't work, Mikey. Take your best shot."

"Okay. Alright. I'm gonna go for it."

"Thata boy. Best of luck to you and your ugly-ass boyfriend, im serious."

"He's not my boyfriend." he says on autopilot, then stops. A slow smile creeps onto his face as he puts the car back in gear, restarts the engine "Yet."

Chapter Text

1st Febuary 2018, 5:02AM

"And why, pray tell, are you calling me at ass o'clock in the morning?"

Scott sat alone on the porch, coffee steadily steaming on the table next to him. It's impossibly dark out, the sunrise still a good few hours away. As much as he likes the idea of waiting for it to arrive he's not going to see it come up today. He's got far too much work to do.

"I knew you would be up. You're fairly predictable." she said simply "I wanted to wish you a happy birthday."

"Hm." he chews on the end of his first morning cigarette "Well, thanks. Reckon you'll be the only one. S'nice of you."

"It's not exactly a great effort." there's never much of a change in the cadence of Dawn's voice, but he can sense the humour behind it. He just gets her. Sort of. In an abstract way "I also would like to officially invite you to my wedding."

The edge of his mouth quirks upwards, the threat of a smile "Oh really? And what'd I do to deserve that honor?"

"Nothing. It's simply what's going to happen." she tells him with absolute certainty "You will be there anyway. It's just a formality to reassure you that you are most definitely welcome at our celebration, even if it took some convincing on my part."

"Zoey didn't want me around, huh? Can't say I'm surprised." He's actually smiling now, pleased by the fact that she still harbours a dislike for him. Good. He's got a very specific kind of distain towards her too, but his reasoning is to be kept a secret "I'm more surprised you'd argue for me."

"The rest of the cast is invited, it's only fair. After all, I beleive that you and I are some semblance of friends."

"Oh? And here I thought you didn't care for my company." 

"And here I thought you were intuitive enough to see through that. Shall I bother to send you the hotel link?"

"Hmm. Yeah, I'll go. If that's what's going to happen anyway." He smirks, a satisfying scenario playing out in his head. It heavily involves baiting a certain someone into an all-out brawl, manipulating the narrative to cause a scene and get him kicked out of his ex's wedding. He can't help but snicker at the idea- It would absolutely crush him, the bastard.

He's over it- He's so over it that it basically never happened. Just a blip, another little scar to add to his patchwork, this scar taking the form of a slightly different shaped nose. Really as far as his scars go it's one of the less offensive ones, but that doesn't change the fact that if he ever has to suffer seeing his stupid pretty face again he's going to make him thoroughly regret it.

"Excellent. It'll be nice to have everyone together again. I can only assume you'll be on best behaviour."

It's a warning, he thinks "Of course. Best behaviour, just for you." he lies through his teeth. If she can tell he's being ingenuine she doesn't say anything about it.

"Much appreciated. Did you have any plans for your birthday this year?"

He pauses. It's not an odd question by any means but it feels like it has more meaning behind it than what's on the surface "Nah, birthdays are stupid."

"Oh. What a shame you feel that way. You're very lucky, you know- It's a beautiful time of year to be born."

"What, the cold dead of winter? Yeah, what a treat." he says sarcastically as he watches his breath fog up in the freezing air.

"There's a certain romance about it, don't you think? Although I more meant the holiday you were born into. Imbolc is a very significant point in the cyclical calendar."

"The fuck is an Imbolc? That's not any kind of holiday I ever heard of."

"I doubt you would have." he wants to snap at her condescending tone, but she continues before he gets the opportunity "Imbolc is a pagan celebration symbolising anticipation for the spring. It represents regrowth and renewal, the cycle coming back around to life after death. Traditionally we celebrate the godess Brigid, who uses today to come to our realm and collect her firewood. If the winter will last much longer she will ensure the weather is fair, so that the wood is dry and the fire will start easily. If spring is right around the corner then no firewood is necessary, and she will let it rain. I beleive Christian society took the idea and rebranded it as Groundhog day."

"Groundhog day's tomorrow." he counters, but doesn't say a word against her quite frankly ridiculous beleifs.

"Yes, and Christmas is a whole four days after Yuletide, but it's still the same thing." she tells him patiently "Either way today is representative of great change and hope for a better future. If you were inclined to celebrate with me I would recommend leaving an offering for Brigid, perhaps a candle burning throughout the day."

He rolls his eyes "Yeah, cause I'm totally gonna do that."

"It wouldn't hurt, you know. You were born on her day- That's really quite special. I'm fairly envious."

"Oh are you now? What, was little miss witchcraft not born on some magical fantasy day? No fairies or unicorns show up to the gender reaveal? I'll bet a gnome didn't even cut your umbilical cord."

"I'm glad you're so amused by my faith." she says dryly, and he grins at her unimpressed tone. Whatever. He knows he's funny "There is no obligation to make any kind of offering, it's only a symbol of thanks for the gradually increasing daylight that we have to look forward to. The weather will do as it pleases regardless of our actions, as is the hand of fate."

It's all very silly, really, but he finds he's quite enjoying her folk stories "Well then," he says it cooly around a hot cloud of smoke as he glances up at the still-starry sky "Let's hope it rains."

////

Same Day, 2:36pm

This has got to be the worst idea of all time. He's going to get kicked straight back to the curb. He's going to get beaten within an inch of his life. He's going to get arrested on a stalking charge, maybe even have a restraining order thrown into the mix.

But he's here anyway, managed to find the building just fine, parked up round the back as inconspicuously as possible. It had only taken another couple days to make his way to Calgary, made it just in time to do this on a day where it feels significant. He'd spent the last two hours driving in circles while he plotted his next move.

He hadn't come up with a hell of a lot, but it was nice to explore the city in the daytime. It's unusually sunny out for February, all the colder for the lack of cloud cover, but it could be mistaken for a summers day if you were sat indoors. Anne Maria's advice was still just about the peak of his plan- Just tell him how much you like him. Classic. Can't go wrong.

Except it could go wrong, and it will amost definitely go wrong. He's expecting to do a whole lot of grovelling today, is willing to say just about anything at this point to get his foot back in the door. It's all he's been thinking about all week.

A truck pulled up to the back of the building about five minutes ago, and has been blocking his view of Scotts apartment since. The driver seems to be just sitting there, waiting while he looks at his phone. Mike feels a bit like a spy- he should have a pair of binoculars or something, really throw himself into full-on-creep mode.

And then the garage door opens, and there he is.

His stomach does a weird little flip. There's a drumming noise in his head and an overwhelming feeling of wrong, wrong! You should not be here! But Mike has started to like that feeling. He's been feeling something akin to it his whole life.

But he has to focus on the task at hand. Mike notes that he looks tired, but he sort of always looks tired- It has to be worse than usual, though, because he can tell even from a distance. He's just as pale and grouchy looking as ever, has slouched out into the coldest, deadest part of winter in nothing more than jeans and another stained white tank top. He taps on the window of the truck, gets the drivers attention, and the stranger breaks out into a grin.

And then this guy is hopping out of the cab, follows Scott back into the garage, and when they come back out they're carrying a heavy looking wardrobe. Mike decides this must be the courier service Scott uses for his business.

Which should feel like a normal thing to be going on, but they're chatting and laughing as they haul furniture back and forth like they're old friends, and it's so god damn weird to see Scott interacting with someone from outside the show and Mike can't figure out why it's rubbing him the wrong way. Courier guy is too tall- he's got dark hair and a sharp jawline and apparently can drag a smile out of Scott without even trying. He's overcome with a sudden surge of jealousy. It's almost violent- he wants to go over there, but if he went over there, what would he even do? Tell the guy to back off? He's literally just doing his job.

It's ridiculous, he thinks. He has no right to feel that way, but he does. So he bides his time, watches intently as they shake hands in parting, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens as this nobody pulls him in for a hug, and the redhead doesn't even push him away. How wildly unprofessional. It makes him want to scream.

And Scott is still smiling even as this stranger hops back into the truck, waves him away as he drives off back to wherever the fuck he came from. Mike feels like he might throw up. He has the intense desire to have his attention solely on himself, and it's what prompts him to get out of the car. He's going to get some attention, alright. Good or bad, doesn't matter- As long as he gets more of a reaction than that handsome asshole who has a truck and a job and- Okay, he's getting way too worked up about this.

He doesn't notice at first- isn't looking in this direction, is still watching where the truck has dissapeared around the corner as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of smokes. Mike leans tentatively on the hood of his car, just stands and stares as Scott lights his cigarette.

And when the first puff of smoke dissapates he glances over, and he sees him.

He definitely sees him, because his eyes have gone wide and he's frozen in place, like he's seen a ghost, like this is the most shocking thing that has ever happened to him. And maybe it is.

Mike is fully aware that what he's doing right now is weird as shit. If someone he'd breifly not-dated who tried to murder him on two sperate accounts showed up on his doorstep hundreds of miles from where he knows that person lives he'd probably have a similar reaction. But that's personally never happened to him- it's a very unusual situation. It's such an unusual situation there isn't even a word for it.

So he lifts a hand, gives him an awkward wave, and that seems to snap Scott out of his deer-in-headlights daze. The redhead jolts back, keeps his eyes firmly on Mike as he ducks back into the garage, like if he looks away something bad is going to happen. He comes back out weilding a fucking crowbar.

It's definitely a threat- So is the way he's storming towards him. Mike straightens up, gets ready for the inevitable nuclear fallout that this is sure to be.

Scott stops a little over a metre away from him, wary and furious and gripping his weapon like a lifeline "You've come here to kill me." he states with absolute certainty, no inflection to his voice.

And- and it's fucking funny. It's funny as shit. Mike starts laughing, can't help himself. It's so dramatic, like a line straight out of a sci-fi movie, and his reaction only confuses Scott more.

"Well, third time's the charm." he chokes out through giggles, followed by a "Woah!"

He dodges it by literal centimetres, the crowbar coming down hard on the bonnet of his car and leaving an indent that made it look like he'd been in some kind of accident. It was suddenly a whole lot less funny "Dude, that could have-"

"I'm gonna break your kneecaps." Scott tells him through grit teeth right before he swings again, this time taking out one of his headlights as Mike jumps out of the way.

"Scott- C'mon- Hey!" he dodges again, another round of damage to his car and while avoiding grevious bodily harm it breifly crosses his mind that he does not have the money to get this fixed "It was a joke! I'm not gonna kill you! Just- Stop!"

It's a blessing that he listens, because Mike's pretty sure he needs his kneecaps. He stops swinging, instead opts to hold the crowbar threateningly in front of him like a sword, almost imperceptibly shaking in the effort it's apparently taking to restrain himself from attacking again "Then what the fuck are you doing here?"

And Mike blinks at him, because theres a weapon so close to his face he can't look at it without going cross-eyed and Scott's breathing heavily through his nose, might as well have steam coming out of his ears at this point. He's so, so angry and more than capable of splattering his brains across the parking lot with that thing, and Mike finds him so ridiculously, inexplicably attractive right now that he might just let him.

"I came to see you." he says simply, wills his heart rate to slow the fuck down "Drove all the way from Toronto, cause I missed you, and you won't talk to me, and if I never saw you again I think I might actually die."

Scott takes a second to let that information sink in. He lowers the crowbar by an inch, face screwed up in confusion "You drove here?"

"Dude, who's car did you think you were destroying just now?" he demands, glances over his shoulder to inspect the damage "Thanks for that, by the way. That's sorta my house at the moment."

"You're insane." he declares, bewildered, steps back and lets the crowbar hang by his side "You're completely insane, and you need to go home right now."

"I am home." he gestures to the car again and watches as the cogs turn in Scotts brain. 

"Cameron kick you out?" he asks warily, and he's so much smarter than anyone gives him credit for and Mike wants to spill his guts right then and there, so everything he's been thinking and feeling for the last month could just pour over, be laid out on the table and picked over by the man in front of him.

"Yeah." he says instead and shuffles his feet a little, suddenly embarassed by his living situation "I'm driving to the west coast and I thought, hey, this is on the way..."

He trails off and isn't this just so insanely awkward. He runs a hand through his hair, can't help the nervous laughter that escapes him "And it's like- okay, this sucks, but it's not all bad, cause I'm free now, y'know? And I've just been driving around thinking about stuff, and I realised- out of all the people in the world, you're the only one I actually wanna talk to. And I feel so god damn stupid about pushing you away, cause for a little while there we had something good, and I haven't had anything good in my life in so long, and it was so different to what I thought I wanted, it just... It scared me. I'm not used to this. And once it was gone again I just..."

He gestures eratically towards the sky, doesn't know how to finish his statement. Doesn't know what to make of the way Scott's looking at him either- he's always so hard to read.

"You know what I think is going on here?" the redhead asks him, grip tight on his crowbar.

"What?"

"I think," he starts, eyes narrowed to slits "That you're newly homeless, you've got nowhere to go, and you think I'm stupid and desperate enough to take you in off the street like a stray dog. Cause, what, we fucked one time? Seriously Mike, that's low. It's low, and pathetic, and frankly fucking offensive."

"What? No, no," he runs a nervous hand through his hair, hadn't even considered that angle "It's not like that. I'm trying to make a gesture here, Scott, cause whether you like it or not you became someone important to me, and I think about you all the time, and I'm willing to do basically anything to get you to like me again. I'll be whatever you want me to be. I just wanna tell you I like you. Like, here-"

He opens the car door, reaches under the passenger seat and pulls out the machete, holds it out to him as a peace offering. From the startled look on Scotts face he takes it the exact opposite way, raises the crowbar again like they're about to duel or something.

"Oh, no," he backtracks, realises what that just looked like and flips it around, holding the handle out to him instead "It's for you. Um. Happy birthday?"

His face actually softens a little and for a moment Mike thinks he might have won him over, until he snatches the machete out of his hand and points it at his throat. Well that definitely backfired. Scott now has two weapons and he has zero, and there's no question of who's more likely to fly off the handle right now.

"Great. Thanks for stopping by. You should go."

And from his expression he fucking means it. It didn't work. Mike panics "Hey, c'mon now, can't we talk about it some more?"

"No."

"...Can I at least use your shower?"

"No." 

He turns away sharply, shoots him a nasty look over his shoulder as he stalks back into the garage and slams the shutter down so hard Mike can feel the vibration from across the parking lot.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. Okay, that went terribly. It technically could have gone worse- he could have a pair of broken kneecaps right now- but that's not much to celebrate.

He looks at his busted up car, wonders where he's going to go tonight.

"Shit."

///

Scott is just about ready to lose his god damn mind. This was the absolute last thing he'd expected today, hadn't asked for this kind of drama and definitely didn't need it. Had not once hoped in the slightest that Mike would go and pull this kind of stunt, wouldn't have thought to even if he hadn't gotten over it already. Which makes it all the stupider since he'd moved past this weeks ago, but then this asshole goes and shows up on his doorstep with sweet words and a cool knife and some misguided desire to drag him back into whatever messed up little thing they had going on, after he was the one who decided to call it quits in the first place.

The audacity. The nerve. It's almost admirable.

Almost. He doesn't have any respect for Mike, and he's not inclined to let this gutsy move change his opinion. He's so indecisive. It's annoying as shit. Scott sets the machete down on his bedside table, next to his other knives he prefers for whittling. What an odd thing to give him, he thinks- Mike not only remembered his birthday (Which by the way is a lame and pointless thing to remember) but decided to gift him something he actually thinks is kind of awesome. Not that he'd ever say as much out loud, but nobody can deny a machete is a fucking sweet thing to own.

It makes him feel a certain way, like maybe he's being just a little harsh. Nobody else gave him anything today. He hadn't expected anyone to- He generally doesn't talk to people enough to have that kind of relationship.

He sits on the far side of his bed, peeks out through the gap in the curtain into the parking lot where he's got a good view of Mikes shitty car. God, he's really been living out of that thing, and through Canadian January no less. He's got a clear view of him through the windscreen, hair greasier than he's ever seen it and stubble grown out enough to tell that this is a guy who is incapable of growing a proper beard. It's patchy as hell. He looks like shit.

Scott's in half a mind to go back out there, tell him he can at least use the shower if he really wants. It's a fair enough payoff- cool knife for a hot shower. And then he can send him on his way to wherever the fuck it was he was going- west coast? He's not sure how much he beleives that line, is fairly certain Mike had shown up here with the hopes of staying the night. The couch would sure beat the peice of crap he's currently sleeping in.

And then he starts the car, and this great cloud of smoke starts pouring out from under the hood, and shit- okay, maybe he'd done more damage with the crowbar than he'd thought, because that is not a normal thing for a car to do and he's missing a headlight and-

He watches Mike rush out, pop the hood open and choke on whatever nasty chemical is spewing out into the air. He stands frozen for a moment before kicking the bumper, shouting what he can only assume are expletives at the metric ton of scrap metal he calls home.

What a sad, pathetic creature that's shown up on his doorstep, only worse for wear since getting here. Scott sighs the sigh of a defeated man- Maybe he feels bad for wrecking his ride. Maybe he really is that stupid and desperate after all.

///

He's still fiddling with the spark plug when Mike's done with his shower, been working on this hunk of junk long enough that Vito got bored of pacing the apartment, spent a good twenty minutes bitching about Mike's shitty taste in motor vehicles and why the fuck am I here again and eventually begrudgingly put on a shirt. The whole thing's completely busted- he has no clue how he managed to do so much damage with only a few hits, but he's up to his elbows in engine grease and the more parts he pulls out the more obvious it becomes that they're going to need a real mechanic for this one.

"Y-you don't need to, um," Mike stammers as he enters the garage and Scott snaps his head up to look at him. He's shaved his face, thank god "You don't have to help with that, y'know. I can call a mechanic." he glances just to the left of him, pulls a face "But if you are you probably shouldn't have a candle going next to all that motor oil. That seems kinda dangerous."

Scott glances breifly at the candle burning steadily on his work table "I'm not too worried about it." he replies, purposely neutral "And yeah, I can't fix this- you'll have to call a professional. Or just scrap the thing for parts and get a new one. Engine's totally fucked."

"Oh, great." the taller man groans, leans back against the wall and slides down it like the fights been drained out of him.

"Mike." he'd called out, hands in his pockets.

The man in question whipped around, eyes wild and hands gripped tightly in his own hair like he was trying to pull it out. He's shaking like a dog- Scott thinks he might be on the verge of some kind of panic attack. He doesn't say anything, just stands there breathing way too fast, lost and alone and his last refuge reduced to ruins. He waits for a while for him to reply but it's clear that despite being himself Mike isn't all that present right now.

"Just- come inside." he instructed, waved him towards the garage door. 

Mike nodded jerkily, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He lets him back into his home.

Scott had pushed this sad heap of junk into the garage by himself, let him go clean up and set to work on fixing whatever the hell he'd broke. It was easier to just get it done- No need to talk about anything, no resolutions to be had, just get it fixed and send him right back on his miserable way. But it wasn't really working out like that.

"I know a guy who can get you a deal on a van. Probably better for sleeping in anyway." he tells him cooly "Guess you can stay on the couch tonight, if you need to."

"...You're being really nice to me." is what he says in lieu of a real reply, peeking out at him from behind hands that hide his face "You don't need to- Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I came here and bothered you. I mean, it's your birthday, you probably have plans, and I'm here taking up all your time with my bullshit. Like, shit, just keep the car, sell whatever you want, I'll walk to Vancouver."

What a stupid idea. What a stupid thing to say in general. Scott has the worst soft spot for this wet cat of a man, and he wants to claw it out of himself like a tumor, has been working on doing so ever since he dropped him off at the airport, but the cancer has spread and Mike's situation is so disgustingly pitiful he can't help himself when he says "Shut up, Mike. I don't mind."

And it's strange but he really doesn't mind. He purposely leaves out the part where he doesn't have any plans at all. Mike doesn't need to know how much of a hermit he really is.

"It was supposed to be romantic, y'know." he says, and Scott freezes up "Coming here and surprising you. It was supposed to be this whole big thing, and it was supposed to be about you, but now you've ended up helping me out cause, let's face it, my life is a total pile of shit, and I'm just- I'm such an idiot-"

"Yeah, you really fucking are." he snaps, throws the spark plug somehwere into the depths of the engine with a metallic clang "Don't start saying that kinda shit. I don't wanna get involved with your pathetic little pity party." But he's already involved. He's the only guest. He ignores the part about romance- that's a whole other thing, and not what they should be focused on right now.

"I don't want to be pitied. I want to be better." he says, and it's such a depressing, honest thing that Scott doesn't have a comeback for it. It's silent in the garage for a minuite before Mike speaks again "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Are you scared of me?" it's not what he was expecting. He's not sure what he was expecting but it sure wasn't that "Cameron kicked me out cause I was worrying him too much. Zoey left me cause- well, she never outright said it but I think I really freaked her out a lot of the time. It's harder to hide the weird stuff when you live with someone, yknow? And when I showed up here you assumed I was here to hurt you, which I totally get, cause I've hurt you before. I've actually hurt you a lot more than anyone else, really. So, like, do I scare you? Do I freak you out?"

If Scott is perfectly honest with himself, and really himself is the only person he's ever truly honest with, he'd say that fear is the primary motivator of his life. Fear of judgement from his family made him to run away to the city, fear of being stuck as a penniless farmhand forever is what promted him to start his own business. It was fear of having no future prospects that made him go on that stupid show in the first place- A million dollars could have had him and his whole family sorted out for a long time. And fear of rejection kept him from ever saying what he truly meant. Kept him alone. It was easier to handle rejection when you never really put yourself out there in the first place.

And it's funny- he is scared of Mike. Not only is the guy several different kinds of crazy stacked on top of eachother, but he's unstable as shit. It wasn't all that far fetched to think he showed up here out for blood. But the worst part was that he invoked feelings in Scott- messy, awful feelings, a bizarre mix of hatred and frustration and an overwhelming sort of desire that makes his chest ache. He made Scott feel like there was something to want, and that's terrifying.

So if he's honest he is scared of Mike, but he's only ever honest with himself, so what he says is;

"Scared of you?" he snorts, slams the engine hood shut "You couldn't scare me if you tried. Sure know how to piss me off, though."

And Mike breaks out into this slow, creeping sort of grin, and he must have said the right thing because the life has returned to his eyes, lighting him up like he thinks there might actually be a chance, that maybe everything is going to be okay.

"Then I guess I came to the right place."

Chapter Text

2nd February 2018, 7:46am

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Vancouver. Come with me, it'll be fun."

Mike is feeling fresh- clean, slept somewhere other than his icebox of a car, had enough coffee to be practically bouncing off the walls. He's excited. What exactly he's excited about alludes him, but the road is calling him back to adventure and he has a strong desire to make it a joint one.

"Are you stupid?" Scott asks him, hands on his hips. He's still taciturn and a lot more wary of Mike than he wants him to be, but the wall's been broken down enough that they're at least talking again, and this success has put a brand new stride in his step "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Oh, come on." he pleads "You'll like it, I swear. Besides, I'm pretty sure you told me one time that outside doing the show you never really left Alberta- have you ever seen the ocean?"

"No, and I don't want to." he asserts, crosses his arms and actually shivers "There's... things in the ocean."

Ah. Mike has a pretty clear idea of what he means by 'things' "You don't have to get in the ocean, y'know. I'm probably not gonna get in, I mean, it's Febuary. And I don't think there's sharks off the coast of Vancouver anyway."

"Don't say-" he cuts himself off as a hand flies up to touch the scar on his face, and he looks kind of embarrassed. Mike jots that one down in his mental notebook- don't talk about sharks. Got it.

"It won't be a problem, Scott. Promise. I think it would be good for you anyway, to see someplace new. We'll make a whole thing out of it, do a roadtrip through the Rockies, camp out in the van-"

"My van." he interrupts, takes on an accusatory tone "You just want a free ride to the next province over."

"No, really, it's not about that- I'll hitchike if I have to." he explains, hand over heart "I just think it'd be really cool to do the trip with you. I've been driving across the country for a little while now and it's actually been pretty fun. Let me show you a good time."

"Right, cause I bet being homeless is just so much fun." he rolls his eyes and Mike doesn't appreciate the dig at his current situation.

"Oh, fuck off." he snaps, takes a breath and recollects himself. He's not going to convince him to go anywhere by getting all worked up "It's a lot of fun if you don't have to do it all the time, that's sort of the whole point of camping. It'll be like a holiday- when's the last time you took a holiday?"

He actually pauses at that, stops to think about it enough that Mike can see he's starting to wear him down "Never. I don't have time for that shit- and if I did I wouldn't be going with you."

"Uh huh," Mike ignores the implied insult "You didn't even take time off when I came over for new years. You could do to live a little, man, like, just come with me. I really want you to come with me. It would mean the world."

And by god if he doesn't look tempted. Mike has quickly discovered that the more heart-on-sleeve pathetic he makes himself the easier Scott will bend to his whims, and he's more than willing to plead and grovel because, hey, it works. He's not sure what exactly that says about either of them.

"I can't just take time off whenever I want. Some of us actually have lives, Micheal."

"I love it when you call me Michael." he tells him, because it's true and it makes Scott blush to the tips of his ears and he's so close to getting exactly what he wants "Besides, you totally could. You're your own boss, right? Like, take advantage of that- not everyone's so lucky."

"Luck's got nothing to do with it." he says proudly, turning his nose up at the idea of luck, and Mike must have stroked his ego in just the right way because "...I guess I could delay a couple projects. How long would we be out of town for, anyway?"

Jackpot "Just a few days. Maybe a week, tops." he grins, reaches out to put an arm round his shoulder and is all too pleased when even despite the wary look sent his way, Scott actually lets him "This is gonna be so much fun."

///

The Rocky Mountains are fucking beautiful. Mike is half in disbeleif that he's never seen them before- he'd have travelled west a whole lot sooner if he knew it looked like this.

Scott is a nightmare driver, but he already knew that when he signed up for a roadtrip in his sketchy-ass van. The state of the road doesn't help. It hadn't been snowing in the city but up here in the mountains there's a consistent flurry of the stuff and the highway is practically made of ice. Nobody comes to salt the roads this far out of civilisation. He supposes that's why so few people choose to do this kind if trip mid winter.

The first day of driving is fine, if not nerve wracking, because his companion is hell bent on scaring the absolute shit out of him at every given opportunity. He seems to get a kick out of swerving just that too close to the edge of the road, where there's little more than a rusted chicken wire fence between them and a sheer drop into the chasm below. Scott smokes in the cab without consideration as to whether Mike wants to be breathing it too, bitches at him endlessly about anything and everything, asks a million snarky questions about where exactly they're going and what's so special about Vancouver and the Pacific Ocean and Mike has to keep repeating himself to say that he doesn't know. That the journey is just as important as the destination- he just follows the highway west until he's seen as far as west can go. That's the point of the adventure. 

Mike is specifically not allowed to do any driving, it's Scott's van after all, so he doesn't bother keeping himself in a state where he'd be able to take the wheel. He starts drinking the morning they set out. It makes it more fun, and Scott doesn't care, doesn't give a shit that he's half cut by the middle of the day, doesn't mind in the slightest when he ends up slurring while he rambles about all the stuff he got up to in Saskatchewan and how the snow on the mountains is the prettiest thing he's ever seen and only swats at him lightly when Mike gets a little too comfortable with their reinstated comraderie and starts randomly leaning over to touch his hair while he tries to keep his eyes on the road. 

And it's nice. It's good. If Mike were allowed to drive they might have taken it in shifts where one sleeps and the other continues the journey, but they're not in any rush, and it's way more fun to spend the day chattering and bitching and catching up with eachother. It's unavoidable in the close quarters of the van, and Mike personally thinks he's doing a great job of sweet talking his companion back round to whatever it was they had before. It'll be even easier once he's not driving, once he has a campfire going and the excuse of the biting cold to sit that little bit closer together. So when the sun starts getting a little low in the sky they pull over to a bay on the side of the highway. The road from here overlooks a good chunk of of the mountain range, overrun with snowy evergreen forest. It feels surreal being all the way up here, sat right in the middle of the kind of landscape you only see in nature documentaries, or the screensavers your grandparents have on their ancient PC of places they've never been to.

The ground is too wet and icy to start a proper fire, but Scott brought a large metal bucket, a big green bin looking thing- he'd been weirdly prepared for this kind of trip, had a lot of equipment that would come in handy in the wilderness. The back of the van is stockpiled with junk to the point it looks like a hoarders hovel, most of the floor space taken up by a roll-out futon and Mikes ultra-thermal sleeping bag. This is camping at it's best, he thinks, watching the sun duck behind one mountain peak and turn the sky pink as Scott sets fire to some kindling he brought from home, and despite the snow he sets the pile of sticks in the bucket ablaze without issue.

They sit on the back step of the van, warming their hands by the fire. It's probably close to minus degrees out so the doors are shut and the engine is idle, leaving the heating on so the van might be just about bearable to sleep in tonight. Scott finally takes him up on the offer of a drink and they pass the wine back and forth and chat shit over the fire like this could have been a regular occurence for them. Neither of them question how normal it feels to be roughing it in the mountains together, and it feels oddly wholesome in a way that makes Mike warm inside and he's just so happy to not be doing this shit alone anymore.

"So, like, are you still mad at me?" he asks at some point, because honestly it's still very unclear. Scott shoots him a withering look and then goes straight back to staring out at the mountains without adressing the question at all. So he continues, but he's fairly intoxicated at this point and it turns into more rambling than anything else "Like, you haven't said much about it, but I know I fucked things up with you and we're just kind of ignoring that part, and that's kind of weird, y'know? And don't get me wrong, I don't wanna start a fight over it, but I gotta know, are your feelings still hurt? Did I fuck this up beyond repair? I mean, you came out here with me, so you can't be that mad, right? And, like, it's so weird to even ask but- do you still like me? Cause I like you. And that's sort of the point of the trip. Like, um, I want to show you I like you, and I'm not gonna push for us to suddenly get together or anything, but it's on the table now if you're still interested. I'll be whatever the hell you want me to be. So, yeah, I... what was my point again?"

He trails off and looks over to find Scott slack-jawed and staring at him like he'd grown a second head. Yeah, maybe that was too much at once, because his companion looks away, takes a long drink from their bottle of wine before passing it back without so much as glancing in his direction. He looks uncomfortable- takes a minute to think about it before sighing dramatically and turns to face him.

"Okay. Fucking- Fine. Let's see." he starts counting things off on his fingers "Not mad at you, I guess. Don't get me wrong I'm still tempted to punch your fucking lights out, like, you broke my nose. As if I needed to get any uglier." he glares "But it's whatever."

Mike raises an eyebrow "You're not ugly."

"Uh huh." he rolls his eyes "Anyway-"

"And if anything I think your nose is actually straighter since you reset it." he interrupts with a grin, brandishing the bottle of wine at him as if he was making a toast "So, you're welcome."

Scott blinks at him, reeling from the implications of that statement "Oh, fuck you." he snaps, snatches the wine back out of his hand "How about I break your nose, see if it comes out any straighter? And while we're at it, why don't I get the machete out the van, give you some scars to match mine." he gestures to the jagged line across his eye, but there's no real threat to it.

"You already tried that once. Didn't go great for you." he pointed out, maybe enjoying his reaction a little too much "Besides, I don't think scars would suit me. They're kind of hot on you, though."

Scott chokes on his wine "You're weird." he says, reverting to ths most basic of insults and looking away to hide the way his cheeks flush.

"That's not that weird."

"No, but you are."

"Oh shut it. Why do you think you're ugly?"

"Mike." he starts, agitated by this line of conversation "Which fucking question do you want me to answer here? Cause you've asked me at least five now and we haven't even gotten through the first one."

He pauses "I, um... I can't even remember half the things I asked, honestly." he shrugs "Just go with the last one."

"God, what's even the point of you opening your stupid drunk mouth?" he sneers, taking a sip from the shared bottle "Pick a different question. I don't wanna talk about that."

"Oh, come on, Scott, talk to me." he whines as he leans back into the doors of the van "I just don't understand how you could think that way about yourself. Like, you're so... you strike me as a confident kinda guy. Where's this self depreciating crap coming from?"

He stalls, runs a hand through his hair "Oh, you're such a little weasel. Fine, the scarring is a part of it."

"So we can cross that one off, cause like I said, scars are hot. Next."

"Say what you want, Micheal, it doesn't change the way people on the street look at me." he snaps.

Mike pauses, schools his expression to something neutral "Oh. Well. Who cares what strangers think?"

"Who cares what you think?"

"You should, considering I'm the guy trying to romance you." he stops, the image of that stupid handsome truck driver springing to mind and can't help but ask "You haven't been, like, seeing anyone else... right?"

Scott stares at him in disbeleif "Um. Is anyone else here? No? There's your answer, then. Real fucking funny, Mike."

"I wasn't being funny."

"So you were, what, being jealous? Of fucking what? You think people are just lining up for a peice of this?" he gestures to himself, rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it hurts "Be for fucking real."

"It wouldn't be all that hard to beleive, y'know."

"Oh go fuck yourself." he seethes, turns to bare his teeth at him "I'm ugly as shit and you know it. I've got nothing going for me. I had a weird face before the incident. I'm ginger in the pale freckly way. I don't have a high school diploma. I'm short and I've got fucked up teeth, I'm-"

"Okay, alright, I get it. You can stop now." he inturrupts and is a little surprised it actually gets him to be quiet. Scott turns away towards the fire, fuming to himself as he puts his hands back over it "And what do you mean you're short? You've gotta be, what, five eleven? six foot?"

"You make me feel short." he sulks, glaring into the flames.

He doesn't react at all when Mike bursts out laughing "Dude," he says between giggles "Are you seriously insecure about me being taller than you? That's kinda fucked up."

"Oh shut it. Not everyone gets to look like a model, y'know." 

"A model?" he snorts, can't help the way his face flushes "Yeah, sure. Not everyone gets to be built like you, either."

Scott shrugs dismissively "Eh. Years of manual labour."

"Well it, um, it works for you?" Mike scratches the back of his neck, looking away "And while we're on it there's nothing weird about your face, either. I like your face. You're not classically handsome- So what? You're kinda, like, rugged? Fuck, this is awkward."

"No. Carry on." he sniffs, purposely neutral.

"Oh you are so enjoying this." Mike rolls his eyes "What, you want me to tell you I like your hair, too? Because I do. It's a pretty colour. And your freckles are kinda cute. I think gingers only make up something like one percent of the world population so you're like, um, rare or whatever."

He snorts, any traces of self pity pretty much gone "Oh, I'm rare am I?"

"Shut up. You're unusual, let's put it that way."

"What else do you like about me?" he purrs.

"Absolutely nothing. You're the worst." Mike grins as he shoves at his shoulder playfully "And maybe your teeth wouldn't be so fucked up and yellow if you didn't smoke like a god damn chimney."

"Excuse me?" the redhead balks, straightens up where he's sat "Yellow? I never said they were yellow. Are my teeth yellow?" he holds a hand to his mouth, suddenly self concious.

"Oh my god. Are you colourblind or something? They're not exactly white now are they." 

"Rude." he huffs, kicks Mike in the shin for good measure "At least I don't have a dorky ass gap in the front of my teeth. Seriously, that thing's, like, a mile wide. It's all I can look at. You should practice smiling with your mouth closed."

Mike gapes at him, and then quickly shuts his mouth again, his turn to feel self concious "Why would you- I wasn't in a situation where I could get braces, okay? And I'm not getting them as an adult. God, you are such an asshole."

"Takes one to know one, you lanky, gap-toothed peice of shit."

He's so, so tempted to hit him, but resists the compulsion. He goes for more petty jabs instead "Whatever. At least I have a high school diploma. Like, what the fuck is that about? Did you seriously not pass twelfth grade math?"

Scott has no such reservations, just growls and smacks him upside the head "Fucking ow. Dude, what the fuck?"

"I would have." he insists, glaring at Mike who's busy rubbing at the sore spot above his ear "If I'd taken it. I'm not stupid, y'know. Some of us didn't have the luxury to go to school."

Mike pauses his actions to stare at him in disbeleif "It's a luxury to... go to high school?"

"Yeah."

"...Where are you from? The past?" 

"I told you before, I'm from middle of nowhere, Alberta. The nearest high school was nearly a two hour drive away, and, I mean," he shrugs "It wasn't really worth the effort. There was too much that needed doing back on the farm. We couldn't afford for me to go to school."

"Dude." he starts, fairly certain that Scott would not appreciate the degree of pity he's feeling right now "So, were you, like, homeschooled? Or did your parents just... let you run wild?"

The redhead snorts, then says like it's the most normal thing in the world- "Run wild my ass. I've been working full time since I was fourteen."

"Holy shit." Mike takes a moment for that to process, and then- "Your parents are terrible people."

"What?" Scott straightens his back and turns towards him, caught off guard "What makes you say that?"

"Um, the fact that they exploited you for child labour? At the cost of your education?" he answers in earnest. Scott snarls and punches him in the arm "Ow, dude, stop hitting me!"

"Don't you dare shit talk my parents. They're good people." he insists, points a threatening finger in Mikes face "It's not their fault we were poor."

"It's not your fault, either, y'know. How can you sit here defending them? It was their responsibility to make sure you went to school, but instead you, what, spent your childhood working on a farm all day?"

"I had a great childhood." he states, aloof.

"Oh my god. I can't even-" he rubs a hand over his face "You don't get it, do you? That's not normal, Scott. Your upbringing wasn't normal."

"Says you." he bares his teeth at him, and the denial isn't cute in the slightest "What made your childhood so great, then, mister normal?"

Mike glares at him, the atmosphere of their camping trip very much soured by that question "Nothing. It was awful. You know I don't talk about it."

"Then where do you get off insulting my parents, huh?"

"Because- I- I don't-" he splutters. This line of conversation is hitting a little too close to home, memories surfacing that he deliberately chooses to never think about. Something in him snaps, he's not sure if it's anger he's feeling, but whatever it is it's overwhelming.

"The difference here, I think," he seethes, eyes narrowed to slits "Is that you're convinced what you went through was good. That it was character building or some crap like that. Me? I'm not that delusional. I know my parents were bad people. Like, sure, I got to go to school, once the police actually did their fucking jobs and I got put in foster care. Which by the way, was the highlight of my entire childhood. Foster care is great." He's aware that he's ranting like a lunatic, but it needs to be put out there. If he's ever going to understand, if he's ever going to see the reality that sometimes parents should absolutely not be parents, then Scott needs to know.

"It only took thirteen years to convince the authorities I wasn't lying about the things my parents were doing to me, that I wasn't some attention seeking little shit out to ruin my dads reputation, because obviously I have psychological issues and all the burn marks are self harm and why would a pediatrician be mutilating his own kid? Doesn't make sense, right?" he laughs, high pitched and manic,

"And then of course all I need is therapy- Where I'm told I'm making up all the abuse and I have no valid perception of reality, cause there's other people in my head and they're doing this to me. So it's the gaslighting therapists office and then straight back home to being locked in a room and force-fed fucking sedatives because if this gets out- If I get out, they're fucked, and sure it ended eventually, I did get out and they're both in prison now, but I just- I mean, jesus fucking christ. I still see my fathers face in my nightmares. I'm going to kill him one day, when he's released. I hope they both die, and I hope it's slow and fucking painful."

By the time he's finished he has his face cradled in both hands, breathing just a little too heavily. They're quiet for a while, only the crackle of the fire to break the silence. Eventually whatever this tumultuous feeling is passes, leaving in it's wake the kind of numbness you feel after crying your eyes out. Except he hasn't been crying, thank god. Scott doesn't need to see that. Nobody needs to see that. He glances up to see his companion watching him cautiously, mouth pressed shut in a firm line, for once absolutely nothing to say.

"Sorry." Mike says blandly. He's wildly overshared, feels so stupid "I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up. Don't apologise to me." he interrupts, scoots over so he can put an arm around him. It's kind of awkward. It's like an attempt at comfort from someone who doesn't know what comfort is supposed to be.

It makes Mike laugh again- A sick sort of thing that just spills out of him. He's not used to talking about this, and he's even less used to the lack of commentary on it. Eventually Scott asks, tentative and uncomfortable "How, um. How did you get out? If you don't mind me asking."

That's possibly an even worse memory. Not that he remembers it- Only knows what happened from reading through the police reports. He shrugs, can't hurt to share that too "One of my alters stabbed my dad. Doctors on the psych ward found sedatives already in my blood, and the whole thing came out after that I guess. I dunno. I wasn't there for it."

"Oh, what the fuck." the redhead mutters quietly, like it wasn't meant to be out loud. What the fuck is right. Everything that happened to him up to the point of being taken away by the police is just one great big what the fuck, and his life has never really recovered.

"Yeah yeah, I know. Don't repeat any of that, by the way. I don't like to think about it." he says, running a hand over the arm around him "I don't tell people that stuff. Brings up that old fear- Like I'm not going to be believed again, y'know?"

"'Course I believe you. Why wouldn't I?" the redhead says quietly "It's super fucked up that-" he cuts himself off with a strangled sort of sound as Mike curls up on top of him, long legs thrown over his lap, arms around his middle and face tucked up into his neck.

"Everything's fucked up and I'm gonna be mentally ill forever." he says, and Scott hums gently in agreement.

He can hear his heartbeat where his ear is pressed against his collar bone, going a mile a minute. Can sense the way his hands hover above his back, totally unsure of himself before relenting, lowering them down to rest gently against the base of his spine. He squeezes him around the middle a little bit tighter, just to feel that heavy thump in his chest.

"You're surprisingly well adjusted." Scott says into his hair "Considering everything."

Mike snorts into his neck "Scott, I'm homeless."

"So what?" he counters "You're a nice guy. Even after all the shit you went through. Nothing all that bad ever happened to me, and I can't say the same."

"I'm not that nice. You're just an asshole." he replies, and Scott doesn't argue.

But it has to be noted that he's really not being an asshole right now. Not at all. It goes to show that he must at least care a little, has some empathy in him somehwere, and Mike finds that he trusts him, in the strangest sense of the word. Trusts him not to mock him where it really matters. He trusts him enough to give him an outline on why he is the way he is, and for the first time in a long time, after sharing that information he feels safe.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks after a while, when the silence has gone on too long. When the rhythm of his heartbeat has settled into something a lot calmer.

The redhead doesn't respond at first, only relaxes back against the doors of the van and buries his nose in thick dark hair, takes a deep inhale.

"...You've given me a lot to think about, honestly." he states, carefully avoiding the question.

It's a lot to take in. He knows that much- He's gone and lived it already. It's not like he had to share any of that but hearing Scott's totally disillusioned recount of his own childhood really set him off. Maybe he's got a real sore spot about people's shitty parents, but Mike feels almost kind of bad for going off on Scotts folks. After all, they're not comparable to his own in the slightest.

"I didn't mean it, yknow." he holds him a little tighter "The stuff about your parents, I mean. I'm sure I don't have the full picture. It's actually kinda nice you don't hate them or anything."

"I really don't." he says simply "I don't hate them at all. I liked life back on the farm. Kind of miss it, actually."

"Would you ever want to go back?" 

He doesn't answer. Mike doesn't hear so much as feel him sigh, feels his own face flush as arms travel up his back to wrap around his torso, squeeze him hard enough to crack ribs.

"D'you wanna go to sleep?"

Mike pulls away just enough to look up at his face "Depends. Do I get to share the futon? Or is that still a boyfriend privilege?"

It earns him a dry snort "Shut it, or I swear to god I'll make you sleep out in the snow." Scott pushes the legs off of his lap "C'mon, you drunk idiot, go turn the engine off. It should be warm enough in there to get us through the night. I'm gonna put out the fire."

Mike complies, gets in the van and rolls out the futon. He eyes the key in the dashboard and looks back out at the snow, dreading the inevitable point in the early hours of the morning where the cab will turn back into an icebox. After his emotional outburst he wants nothing more than to feel warm and safe. Whatever, it can't hurt to keep the heat on. He's sure Scott will appreciate it come 5AM.

When his companion finally joins him they both get under the unzipped sleeping bag. There's a round of kicking and shoving and they bicker about who gets to be the big spoon until Mike pushes him over onto his back and firmly reclaims his spot tucked up against his neck.

Chapter Text

3rd Febuary 2018, 8:24AM

"Oh, yeah, this is so much fun. Isn't this just so fucking fun." he seethes, pacing back and forth across the icy road "Come to Vancouver with me! Let's go camp in the mountains! We'll take your van!" he says it in a goofy imitation of his companion, erratic and throwing his arms to the sky "What could possibly go wrong?"

Mike sits on the ground, knees to his chest and leaned up against the back wheel of the van "I said sorry, okay?"

It doesn't seem to help any. Scott pivots on one foot to face him, yelling loud enough he breifly worries about the likeliness of an avalanche "Yeah, well, you can take your sorry and shove it up your ass, you stupid gangly fuck!"

He feels like a stupid gangly fuck right about now, shivering on the ground and fresh out of ideas on how to rectify the situation. The hangover only makes it worse. He thinks that Scott might actually kill him this time if it hadn't been for his rant about how it would be so much more satisfying to let nature run it's course, watch him catch hypothermia or starve to death, whichever happens first.

He hadn't turned the engine off. Scott had very specifically told him to turn the engine off. But it had gone all night running on idle with the heat on, and the gas tank is empty. He didn't know that could happen.

There's good reason people don't take this kind of trip in the peak of winter. The Rockies are dangerous territory even when the weather isn't in the minuses. Nobody is going to come to their rescue, and neither of them have a phone signal.

They're going to die out here. They're going to die and it's all Mike's fault.

At least Scott's trying to do something about it. The redhead checks his phone again, holding it up to the sky at various angles in a desperate attempt to get just one bar of signal, but it's no different than when he'd tried the first several times "Fuck!" he very nearly throws his phone over the side of the mountain, but thinks better of it at the last second, running a half-frozen hand through his hair as he thinks through his options. Mike watches him as he barely contains the shivers wracking his body. He's pale enough that he can see his hands are already going blue, and he figures if they survive this it'll at the very least teach him to wear gloves like a normal person.

"Alright. So," he starts, a little calmer but still pacing. He's gone all authoritative, a survival mode reaction "There's the gas station we stopped at about seventy miles back. It's over a days walk, but it's better than sitting here waiting to die. Either that, or we go forward and hope there's a closer one across the ridge." he points to where the road dissapears between a crack in the mountains, where the sun is just beginning to rise.

Mike doesn't love that idea, but he's not sure what else they can do. He sure isn't coming up with anything "Okay, well, forwards I guess? There's gotta be something closer than seventy miles." he fucking hopes there is, because that trek is going to suck.

Scott glares at him, clearly doesn't appreciate the input "We don't know that for sure. It could be a hundred miles that way, and your ideas are the fucking worst. We're going back."

Guess that's decided then. Mike sighs into his folded arms before hauling himself up off the ground "Okay. Whatever you say. Are you mad at me?"

If looks could kill he'd already be a corpse "Y'know what? I'm going by myself."

"Hey, no, c'mon-" 

"Shh." he says suddenly, holds a hand up and frowns in concentration.

"What-"

"Shut up." he hisses, gances over his shoulder "Do you hear that?"

Mike can't hear a damn thing. It's just them in the middle of a barren winter landscape, the only background noise is coming from a formation of geese overhead. But Scott must be onto something he isn't, because he's lit up like there's hope to be had, practically vibrating with nervous energy "Hey, look."

He points to a stretch of road way further back the way they had came, and there it is. The glint of the sunrise reflecting off a vehicle. Mike could just about pass out with releif.

"Oh my god. Oh, we're gonna be okay." he says, clasps his hands together in thanks to whatever higher power has saved his skin this time.

"Hmm." Scott squints to where the car turns around a bend in the mountin, ducking out of sight "Don't get too happy. We don't know who that is. Normal people don't come up here in the winter, you know."

"Well, it's not like whoever it is is going to leave us stranded." he counters. He can't imagine a scenario where even a stranger would just leave them to freeze to death.

But Scott definitely can "Yeah, well, I'm not taking any risks. I took enough risks coming out here with you in the first place, and look where that got me. We're handling this my way. Get in the cab."

"What are we going to-"

"Get in the cab." he repeats, and the look on his face leaves no room for argument.

Mike doesn't think he has the right to argue right now anyway. He complies, gets into the passenger's seat as Scott hops in the other side, anxious about where exactly this is going to go "Okay. So what you're going to do is get out of the van like we've been in here a while, and flag down that car. Get them to stop whatever way you can."

"Right." that seems fairly obvious "And then what are we-"

"And then." he interrupts, reaching under the drivers seat "You're going to keep them talking. Beg for a ride, ask if they've got a spare gas canister in the boot. Doesn't matter if they can help or not, just keep them distracted. Meanwhile, what I'm going to do-"

And why. Why does Scott have a gun? He freezes up as he pulls it out from under the seat. It's an old sawn off shotgun, silver barrel partially rusted and chipped wooden handle looking like it's seen better days. He flips it open, makes sure that, yes, theres two bullets lined up and ready to go, and slips the safety off.

"Scott." his voice comes out strangled "You can't shoot anybody-"

"Relax, will you? I'm not gonna hurt anyone. Well, if this goes to plan, anyway."

"But why- why do you have that?"

"There are bears up here, Mike." he rolls his eyes like it's the most obvious thing in the world "It would be stupid to do this trip with no protection. But then you're an idiot, so-"

"I'm not getting involved with this." he throws his hands up "That's too much. What the hell are you going to-"

"Oh, you're not gonna get involved?" he snaps, cocks the shotgun threateningly "You're already involved. You're gonna go out there and keep this bozo distracted, and I'm gonna stop our asses from freezing to death. Sound like a plan?"

Mike hesitates, doesn't like being anywhere near Scott with a shotgun "Can't you just do it? If you're gonna hold someone at gunpoint anyway I don't see why you can't go wave them down yourself."

"Don't you get it? I don't want to hold anyone at gunpoint, it's just a precaution. And besides, who the fuck is gonna pull over for this face?" he gestures to his scars and peers in the rearview mirror "Look, we've got about sixty seconds before that car's coming round the corner, and I can't pull this off solo. I'm not even asking that much- You've got the easy job, so you better be ready to play actor."

Mike has never been less ready for anything in his life "Oh no. No, no." hands fly up into his hair like he's trying to pull it out "I can't handle this."

"Oh for fucks sake-"

"Just, hold on." he reaches into the back of the van, grabs his go bag "I can't do this. You can get help from someone else."

Scott makes a face "Are you insane? You can't take your shirt off in this weather. Nobody's gonna pull over for some half naked lunatic out in the snow."

"Oh come on, I'm not that stupid." he glares back at him as he pulls out a dusty old hat.

///

Mikes eyes roll back in his head, and then suddenly he's not Mike anymore. Someone else blinks into existence- his posture changes, he rubs his eyes and groans.

"Crikey, Mikey, why are you always leaving me with the hangover." he mutters before taking stock of his surroundings. He sees Scott where he's sat next to him in the drivers seat, scowling and scar faced and holding a loaded gun, and immediately snaps into laser focus as he raises both hands in surrender "Ah... And just what have I been thrown into here?"

Hat guy. Scott vaguely remembers hat guy. Not the worst outcome he supposes, annoying accent aside, but his fingers twitch where he holds his hands up and his eyes are narrowed and scrutinising like he's already thinking through every possible way to disarm him. Scott cocks the shotgun. Hat guy doesn't flinch.

It's a shame they're in such dire circumstances because Scott would just love to play another round of messing with Mike's alters, but there's no time for that now. He gets straight down to business "A car's about to come round the corner. You're going to get them to stop, and you're going to keep them talking until I say otherwise. Got it?"

"...Aye, captain." he says suspiciously, but doesn't ask any further questions.

"Great." Scott checks the mirror again, and there's their target "Alright. Showtime. Go." He waves towards the door and hat guy looks him up and down like he doesn't know quite what to make of him before sliding out of the passenger's side.

He gets straight into character, waving down the approaching car, blocking the middle of the road so there's no chance of them just driving straight on through. Excellent. At least some part of Mike is useful, he thinks, holstering the shotgun inside his jacket and grabbing the rest of the equipment he needs. The car slows to a halt and Scott slips quietly out the door, hiding out of sight of the stranger. Okay, great. It's just the one guy. He gets out of his vehicle and steps round the front, approaching hat guy warily, and then they're standing tensly a few metres apart on the icy road like some kind of Mexican standoff.

"Oh mate, you would not believe what's just happened to me." hat guy starts, and he must be a good actor, because Scott would beleive in a heartbeat that that was genuine releif on his face "Thank god you stopped. Van's broken down, you see..."

He stops listening, takes that as his cue to sneak across the road to the strangers vehicle. He's carrying a large empty bottle and a length of hose- he knew it would eventually come in handy to hoard all that junk in the back of the van- and quickly sets to work opening the gas port of the car, feeds the length of hose through until it's a good ways inside. He glances back over to where hat guy is doing a great job of distracting their unwitting victim.

Man, this guy can talk. The stranger is staring at him, dumbfounded as he weaves the most insane nonsense story about all the shit that's supposedly led him to be stranded in the mountains "And there was this fuckin' bobcat, right? Bastard little thing tried to nab me, so I took my knife-" he pats down his coat, looks confused for a moment "Ah, must have dropped it. But anyway-"

"You're unarmed?" the stranger asks him, and Scott doesn't like the sound of it. Doesn't like the look of him either. He's a big guy, shifty on his feet, and nobody out here at this time of year is up to anything good. But he can't think too much about that now, he's got a job to do.

It's not the most pleasant task in the world, sucking gasoline through a hose. It gets all in his mouth and he definitely swallows too much of the stuff before its trickling steadily out the end of the pipe and down the front of his jacket. He's trying his best not to cough too loud as he feeds the loose end into the bottle. It's a gallon tank- they should be able to siphon enough out of this strangers car to get them at least to the next gas station.

"Yeah, I suppose I am." hat guy is wary now, taking on a fighting stance "What's it to you, big guy?"

"Figured this was some kind of stand up. But I guess not." and the stranger smirks at him, reaches into his jacket "How 'bout I make it one?"

Scott figured anyone with common sense wouldn't venture into the wilderness without a firearm. Shame this asshole has common sense. If he had felt any sort of guilt about robbing him of his only means out of here it's long gone now.

He points a pistol- a notably shitty, girly looking pistol- at hat guy, who swears under his breath, raises his hands for the second time in the span of five minutes "Looks like everyone's pointing guns at me today, ay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" the stranger asks sharply, looking around like there might be someone else hiding nearby. Little does he know there is.

Scott doesn't think he'll actually shoot, but that doesn't make him any less riled up. He's pointing a gun at Mike- well, not Mike, but that's his body and his face and his irritating alternate personality and that's completely unacceptable. Hat guy is grinning like this is some kind of game, and Scott realises that this unarmed idiot is actually cocky enough to try and take on a stranger with a loaded gun. 

He's not going to let it get that far. The bottle is nearly full- that'll be enough. He rips his equipment out of the strangers gas tank and shuts the port, takes his shotgun out of his jacket.

"Whatever you want it to mean." hat guy shrugs, and stranger does not like that answer, cocks his pistol "Easy, tiger. If you're gonna threaten to shoot you better be ready to follow through."

This fucking guy... Is he insane? "Just give me your wallet, asshole." 

Scott's had enough. He gets to his feet and angles the shotgun above both of their heads, fires a warning round.

Stranger whips around in shock, wide eyed and fresh out of luck. Hat guy doesn't hesitate, he leaps forwards and snatches the pistol out of his hand, kicks him in the back of the knee for good measure and sends him keeling to the floor.

"Looks like we got lucky." the redhead starts, spins a new lie as he keeps his aim firmly on the stranger "I got a signal down the road. Repair services are on their way. What's going on here?"

"Ah, great news." hat guy plays along, and Scott isn't too sure why he's inventing a cover story for robbing this stranger when he was just about to rob them anyway. They'd at least had a reason to be stealing- this guy was just an opportunistic bastard "Me and my new pal over here were just havin' a little chat. Until he turned hostile, that is."

"Hm. I see." he adresses the man on the floor "Get in your car and drive away."

"You're not gonna shoot me?" he asks warily, but he doesn't look scared enough to think he's actually about to die right now. It'd be pretty fun to take the time to scare the shit out of him, but Scott's already got what he needed out of this. It's in a gallon bottle on the side of the road, and some of it is sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. He's kind of paranoid about what will happen next time he lights a cigarette.

"No. Now go, before I change my mind."

Stranger rises to his feet, keeps his eyes on the barrel of the shotgun that stays trained on him as he shuffles towards his vehicle. And then he stops, tries his luck a little further "Can I at least get my gun back?"

"No." Scott narrows his eyes. The audacity.

"Actually, while we're here." hat guy inturrupts, waltzes over to the stranger with a smirk and his newly acquired pistol "Why don't you give me your wallet?"

That's... unexpected "Oh, you gotta be kidding me." the stranger complains as he rummages through his jacket and pulls out a tattered strip of leather. Scott shares the sentiment. What the fuck is hat guys problem?

He doesn't say anything to stop him, is suddenly all too aware that this version of Mike is not like the other ones he's met. Doesn't want to provoke him- they haven't gotten off to the best start in the world and the horrifying line of 'one of my alters stabbed my dad' is heavy on his mind. As much as he didn't want to pry it would probably be useful to know which alter is volatile enough to do something like that. So he just watches as hat guy takes the strangers wallet, rifles through it with what can only be described as child-like glee.

"Yoink! Let's see what we got here- Only twenty dollars? Whatever, I'm a cheap date anyway. Hey, he's packing johnnies! Ooh, ribbed for her pleasure- Check it out, captain, this guy fucks!" 

He holds up a string of condoms like it's the catch of the day, grinning ear-to-ear. Scott sighs through his nose, unimpressed.

"I'll be taking those. You can keep the cards and all that plastic junk, I'm no computer expert." he hands the wallet back to him, slaps it against his chest "Go on then, get out of here you salty dog. And don't let me catch you down the road- we might be a whole lot less friendly next time. Go on, get."

The stranger grumbles as he gets back in his car, glares at the both of them as he drives away. Little does he know he won't be driving for all that long before he'll be in exactly the same situation that they were. Poor bastard.

And then it's just the two of them alone on the highway, armed and uncertain of eachother. Hat guy breaks the silence first.

"So. Tell me." he starts, a dangerous edge to his voice, turning his new gun over in his hands. At least he's not pointing it at him "What was the point in that little escapade, ay?"

Scott thinks it must get annoying, keeping track of what's going on with multiple personalities. It probably gets exhausting explaining the same thing over and over again to what are technically different people, but it's got to be a whole lot worse when you're the one waking up and thrown straight into the unknown. He begrudgingly adds it to his ever growing list of reasons to feel bad for Mike.

"Our gas was on empty and we were stuck up here. Mike's fault." he grabs the cannister of gasoline from where he'd hidden it from view "I siphoned most of that guys tank. Should get us through the next leg of the journey."

He shakes the bottle at him to punctuate his statement, and hat guy breaks out into a grin, laughing like that's the best thing he ever heard, like the fact they just committed literal highway robbery wasn't worth a second thought.

"Well check you out, wiley coyote." he tucks his new pistol into his coat, steps forwards and offers him a hand to shake "I like your style. Manitoba Smith."

And isn't that the dumbest name he's ever heard. It's a direct Indiana Jones ripoff- Mikes psyche is so uncreative. He mirrors him, puts away his shotgun and shakes his hand "Scott." he says plainly. 

Manitoba has a very firm grip, he notes. It's so weird looking at Mike's face and seeing someone else behind his eyes, freshly introducing himself like he hasn't been wildly intimate with the man in front of him. He has an entirely different energy about him- more confident, comes across as a lot older than Mike does despite inhabiting the same body. It's jarring, and he feels lightheaded from inhaling too much gasoline, and this whole situation feels like some kind of fever dream. Now that their mission is out of the way he's half tempted to snatch the hat off his head to get him to go away and make it all feel a little more normal, but he's not too sure that would go down well.

"So. Scott." he breaks his grip "What you doing out here with my Mikey, ay? Are you friend, or foe?"

He doesn't particularly feel like explaining the whole thing. It's a confusing dynamic "It's... complicated." he says, takes his bottle of gasoline and starts pouring it into the tank. The sooner they're on the road the better. But he doesn't like the way Manitoba's eyes narrow at his answer so he clarifies "Friend, I guess."

"Hmm." he watches him for a minuite before something clicks in his mind, cracking out in peals of laughter "Ah, no, I getcha. I'll bet you're a man's man, if you catch my drift."

Scott wishes his plan had gone wrong. He quite fancies freezing to death right about now "Like I said. It's complicated." he spits through grit teeth.

And it is complicated. Even if this particular situation has been resolved he's conflicted as to whether he's still mad at Mike or not. He's still kind of mad about being rejected, and about him breaking his nose, and about the fact that he'd ever let himself be vulnerable with this idiot in the first place. He's mad that he'd intruded back into his life, that he sweet talked him into shucking his responsibilities and going on a road trip, and he's mad at himself for being stupid enough to still have feelings for him. Because he does. It's why he's here. It's why they spent the night cuddling in the back of his van.

But all of that festering anger gets thrown to the wayside when he thinks about the things Mike told him last night. The things he said were horrible. Scott will readily admit he isn't the most empathetic person out there, isn't the kind of guy you confide in when looking for a sympathetic response, but even he feels a certain way about it all. Its not a reality that he'd wish on his worst enemy. He's not used to genuinely feeling bad for anyone, and if he felt a little guilty about blackmailing Mike with his disorder before knowing all of that then it's over double now. And the absolute worst, most uncomfortable part of looking into the eyes of Manitoba Smith is seeing this person that Mike created with the ability to weather through tough situations like they're nothing, and knowing why he's there.

"Good thing I nabbed these, then, ay?" Manitoba grins, throws the string of condoms at him "Can't risk letting Mikey get you pregnant."

"Fucking- Excuse me?" Scott slams the gas cap shut, fingers twitching towards his rifle. 

"Hey, easy, easy. I'm just playin' with you. Christ alive, you're a moody one."

"Yeah, well, fuck you. I'm not taking this shit from some crazy British asshole who doesn't even know me."

"British?" he balks, mortally wounded "Mate, I'm from the land down under. Land of the lightning and thunder. And don't you forget it." he points a long finger in his face, sniffs derisively and places his hands on his hips "British. Where we heading to, anyway?"

Scott would be a lot more up for a fight right about now if he wasn't so exhausted from the already taxing events of the morning. He sighs, lets it go for now "West. Can you drive? I think I swallowed, like, a quart of gas and I'm kinda..." he trails off, looks at his hands where they're blue from the cold, the outlines blurring at the edges. He thinks he's basically high right now, head swimming and in absolutely no state to get behind the wheel.

"Ah, we've all been there." Manitoba pats him on the back and he shoots him a funny look. That's a very specific thing to relate to "I gotcha, Scotty. C'mon, let's go."

He ignores the use of the nickname. If he were any less fucked up right now he'd probably assert that that's something only his family calls him. That it's a startling reminder that he hasn't been called that in quite a while now. He slumps back in the passenger's seat and resigns himself to missing his mother. Or he would, if he weren't distracted with a barrage of endless chatter and absolute fucking nonsense.

Manitoba is a talker in all situations, it turns out. Guy doesn't know how to shut up. He's got a million stories about 'back home', as if he's lived a real life, as if he's got memories and dreams and real world experiences that exist outside of Mikes head. It makes Scott contemplate what can even be considered 'real'. So he listens, and he asks questions, and peices together a wild and meandering backstory that makes Indiana Jones look like a chump. He decides that whether he's really real or not, mister Manitoba Smith isn't all that bad company.

In admist the lulls of their conversation he can't help where his mind wanders. Now that there's no immediate problems to be solved he can't stop thinking about all the awful things Mike told him- He wants to take that boy off the street and wrap him in a blanket and tell him it's all going to be okay, which is fucking weird and not a way he's ever really felt about anyone. This feeling is bigger and scarier than the wanting and the pining and all the misplaced anger rolled up into one. But what is he going to do about it?

Well. He's going to do the obvious and indulge whatever the hell this feeling is. Mike is apparently so desperate as to beg him to come on this trip, will trust him enough to spill his secrets over the campfire- He clearly wants Scott, which is nice but it's also not enough. No, if he's going to play for keeps, if he's going to let him back in permanently then he needs to know for sure that Mike wont screw him around again. He needs to know how far he's willing to go, and whether he's playing for keeps too. How he's going to get that confirmation he's not quite sure yet- Straight up asking is out of the question. Maybe he'll waterboard him. That'd be funny.

They're about an hour down the road when they spot him. Stranger is pulled over on the side of the highway, clearly already out of gas, mimicking Scott's behaviour from this morning- phone raised to the sky, trying desperately to get even one bar of signal. When he sees them coming he perks up, stands in the middle of the road trying to wave them down.

"Oh looky looky. It's our little mate." Manitoba smirks something devilish "Think he fancies a game of chicken?"

"What do you mean?" Scott asks warily, but the picture is painted pretty clearly as he presses harder on the gas "Hey, no, you can't just-"

"He'll move."

"Oh, will he? Cause it doesn't look like he's gonna- Oh my god, hit the breaks!"

He only speeds up and Scott wants to close his eyes and pray for dear life, but a morbid curiosity keeps them open. He's absolutely convinced he's about to witness a murder. In his mind he can already see the blood splattered on the windscreen, the lifeless body cast aside in the snowdrift to be frozen over and forgotten to nature. 

It doesn't come true. Stranger's eyes go all wide when he realises that, no, this psycho really is going to run him over, and he jumps at the last second, pressed flat against his car as the van goes hurtling past.

He finally takes his foot off the gas, and Manitoba is laughing. He's fucking lauging his ass off "You're insane." Scott rasps, and it only makes him laugh harder.

And he's not sure if it's the shock or the gasoline in his system, but suddenly he's laughing with him. It's fucking funny. It's funny as shit. They robbed a guy and nearly killed him, and that's hilarious.

"Say, Scotty," he starts once they go quiet, a long ways down the road from where they left their victim "Just how many bullets did'ya pack for that shotgun of yours?"

He pauses. He's known this guy for all of an hour and he already doesn't like hearing that question out of his mouth "I got a crate in the back. Why?"

"Quality. How 'bout you and me set up camp once we've hit the next gas station, break out the guns, see who's a better shot? I fancy a little tournament."

And Scott... actually likes the sound of that. He doesn't get many opportunities to practice these days, kind of misses shooting rats back on the farm. Him and his pappy had targets set up in the feilds, and once upon a time it was a regular occurence to go out there and have tournaments of their own. It slowly became a less regular thing once Scott started consistently winning. It had made him want to suck at it again.

"You're on." he snaps himself out of his reverie, folds his arms behind his head. It's kind of nice not having to do the driving "You'll lose, though. Fair warning."

"Oh? You think you're that good?"

"Yeah." he says simply, shoots him a smug grin. This guy has no idea he's just challenged him to his favourite game "You'll see."

Manitoba takes his eyes off the road for a moment to look him up and down, a curious expression to him and there's a look in his eyes he can't quite read "Can't wait to find out." he mutters, schooling his gaze back toward the windscreen. Then he perks up, excited "Oh boy, I sure hope Mikey packed my snake wine."

"What the hell is snake wine?" Scott asks, confused.

He receives a manic grin in return "Exactly what it sounds like."

Chapter Text

Same Day, 6:04PM

When Mike comes back to himself he's still in the mountains, but definitely not where he left off.

It's not snowing anymore. They're in a clearing a little ways off from the road. He's clutching his hat in both hands, sat on a log in front of the fire bucket, which is blazing steadily with some sort of animal strung up above it. He can't tell what it is- he thinks it might be some kind of large rodent- but it's cooked enough that the fat is dripping off of it and into the vessel below, hissing as it hits the flames.

Scott pokes it with a stick, tongue between his teeth in concentration "Yeah, that's probably good to eat. What do you think-"

He looks up, realises it's Mike sitting there, and grins "Oh. Welcome back, asshole."

"What happened?" he asks immediately, bordering on frantic "How did we get here? Did we hitchike? Did you shoot somebody?"

Scott has the audacity to snicker at him, not taking a single one of his concerns seriously "Relax, will you? Everything's fine. Nobody got hurt." he leaves his, um... whatever it is he's cooking and stalks over to sit beside him on the log "You were right, by the way."

"About what?" he asks suspiciously.

"You wouldn't have been able to handle it." he grins as he says it, leaning in close.

He smells overwhelmingly of gasoline. That fact mixed with his ominous statement only makes him more anxious "So what happened?"

"Eh." Scott shrugs. He looks down at Mike's lap where he's fiddling with the brim of his hat, smirks as he snatches it out of his hands "Don't worry about it." He stands back up, unsteady on his feet and looks far too pleased with himself as he places the hat on top of his head "Everything worked out just fine. No thanks to you."

"...You're in a good mood." he notes uneasily, ignoring the jab for now. Scott just nods at him, does this weird little spin and pulls the brim of the hat over his eyes like he's some kind if outlaw in an old western movie. It's bizarre. He's far more jovial than Mike has ever seen him "What's... What's wrong with you? Are you posessed or something?"

"I'm snake posessed." he says, and hisses at him, and then outright giggles. It's somehow the weirdest thing he's ever done, and Mike finds himself deeply unsettled and more than a little confused.

That is until he procures a bottle from beside the fire, mostly empty at this point, takes a long drink from it and, yep, theres a dead cobra in there.

Fucking Manitoba and his fucking snake wine.

"You can not seriously be drinking that." he scrunches his nose up in disgust.

"What? Why wouldn't I?" 

"Cause there's-" he flounders, throws his hands up "Scott, there's a dead animal in there. It's gross."

He looks at the bottle and then back at Mike "Gross? Nah, it's fucking awesome, is what it is."

He groans, runs a hand through his hair "What the hell is awesome about- about fucking corpse juice?"

"Mike." he starts, shoots him the most painfully condescending look "If you even have to ask that question then you're never going to get it."

He's right. He doesn't get it at all "Oh, god. Okay. Lesson learned- don't let you hang out with Manitoba."

"Boo, you whore." he points an accusatory finger at him before taking off the hat and throwing it back at Mike "Why'd you have to come back so soon? You're such a buzzkill. Put the hat back on, we weren't done with our game."

"Game? What game?" he asks tentatively.

"Shooting game." he says, makes a pistol gesture at him with his hand "I'm winning, by the way. I bet that's why he left. What a sore loser." he stalks back over to yell directly in Mikes ear "You hear me in there, you crazy asshole? Get back out here and lose like a man."

"Scott." he shoves him away, irritated now "That is not how DID works."

"Don't lecture me."

"That wasn't exactly a lecture-"

"Oh, whatever, you smartass fucking... ugh. Wanna play for him?"

Mike blinks at that. He's come around to the strangest scene he'd never imagined, it's freezing out even directly next to the fire and he can tell by the way his head feels that he's definitely ingested more fucking snake wine than he ever would of his own volition. But somehow the weirdest part of this is Scott.

He's never seen Scott drunk. Sure, he's seen him have a drink, but by the way he's acting Mike thinks he's probably legitimately wasted. At least he doesn't seem mad at him anymore. He's extremely thankful for that fact when Scott procures the shotgun.

"Oh, no, you should not be handling that right now." he asserts, stands up and tries to take it out of his hands but recoils in horror when the barrel is suddenly turned to point directly at him "Dude. Not cool."

"Don't tell me what to do." he whines, at the very least shoulders the damn thing so it's not aimed at Mike's face anymore "It's fine. I'm a good shot. Just play with me, jackass, it'll be fun."

"You sure you're okay to shoot drunk?" he asks. He doesn't really want to play whatever kind of game is being proposed here, but there's nothing better to do and he's going to be stuck with Scott in his annoying inebriated state anyway. He wonders if this is how other people feel when he goes off the rails, and actually feels a little guilty. It's not a nice revelation.

He sniffs "Try me. Pick a target."

Mike thinks this is the worst idea ever. He gives in anyway, sighs as he observes their surroundings "Alright..." they've been here a while, he thinks, seeing as there's been targets set up and clear evidence of a lot of them being destroyed. It's mostly bottles and cans lined up high on the mountainside, and as he notes the lack of a clear pathway to get up that high and the slippery ice that coats whatever meagre hand grips were available to climb he wonders if it was his own body that went up there to organise them. The thought makes him shiver "Okay. Bottle on the far left."

"The brown one?"

"Yeah. Go on, prove what a good shot you are." Mike says, rolling his eyes. He's never going to hit it. It's stupidly far away- he's picked the hardest target just to prove a point.

Scott takes the shotgun off his shoulder, extends his arm so it's pointing straight ahead in the air, gripping it tightly in one hand. He closes an eye and sticks his tongue between his teeth.

It's kind of cute. Mike misses it entirely when he actually shoots, too distracted by the man in front of him. He visibly jumps at the sound though, the echo of a gunshot reverberating through the clearing "See? Told'ya I'm a good shot."

"What?" he blinks, startled "You did not hit that-"

"Oh, didn't I? Where'd the bottle go then, genius?" he rolls his eyes, gestures up to the cliffside.

And the bottle is gone. Well, not gone, more likely in a thousand little peices scattered in the snow but the point still stands that Mike can't beleive he's capable of the precision it would take to snipe a tiny target like that. It's kind of annoying "Oh whatever- You got lucky. I missed it, anyway."

"You weren't even looking? Ugh." he gripes, shoves Mike's shoulder hard enough that he's not sure if it's playful or not "How am I supposed to show you I'm better than you if you're not even gonna watch? Give me another one."

Mike raises an eyebrow at that "You think shooting things somehow makes you better than me?"

"Uh, yeah, prettyboy. Pick another target."

It lacks malice- He's got that ironically shark-like grin on his face, clearly enjoying himself. It's not often he looks this happy. It's nice, kind of charming despite the fact he's drunk and irritating, and Mike's worn down enough by their bizarre circumstances that he's inclined to keep him in a good mood whatever way he can.

"Fine," he shrugs, sits back on the log and is pleased to find his stash of regular snake-free wine has been brought out to their campsite too. If Scott can get wasted then it's only fair he gets to as well "Tin can in the middle. Yeah, that one."

"Alright, watch this." he angles the shotgun behind his head so it's sitting across his shoulders, barrel directly next to his ear. It doesn't look safe, but nothing about this seems safe anyway. He pays rapt attention this time, watches the way Scott leans his head back against the barrel so his open eye is directly in line with where he's aiming. The sound doesn't shock him the second time round, he's more astounded by the fact he actually hits it, the way the tin can flies off the cliff and dissapears somehwere into the mountainside.

"Dude." he's honestly annoyed that he's a little bit impressed. This is stupid- it shouldn't be something that impresses him "You are such a showoff."

He snorts "You sound like Manitoba." the redhead waltzes over to sit beside him on the log, flips open the shotgun and packs two more shells into the barrel "Alright, your turn."

Mike is startled to be handed the shotgun. For some reason when Scott had insisted they play a game it hadn't occured to him that he'd actually have to play. He doesn't know what to do with the damn thing- never fired a gun before- and it's obvious in the way he cradles it like it's a ticking time bomb, like it's going to go off by itself and he's going to accidentally shoot himself in the foot or something. That would just be typical.

"Oh god, do I have to?" he asks, standing up anyway as he looks at the gun in his hands like it's his own death sentence.

"What, too chicken to play me? I'll bet you're just embarrassed you're gonna lose. Pussy."

Well, he's not having that. Incensed, he scowls at the redhead before turning around, ignoring the eyes on his back and taking a good look at the makeshift shooting range. He can do this. Deep breaths "Fine, asshole. What's my target?"

"Green bottle, bottom centre." he says immediately, leaning forwards with his chin resting on both palms. 

Mike spots it. He tries to copy the way Scott held it before, one handed and aiming directly in front, but his arm is shaking and it's surprisingly heavy for what wouldn't be considered all that big a gun and how in the hell can anyone tell what they're aiming at like this?

He pulls it back to his chest, rethinks his strategy. Scott's snickering quietly behind him, and of course he's enjoying watching Mike struggle. The bastard. He'll show him- he might not have the finesse but god damn he's at least going to hit something. He aims forwards again, tucks the butt of the gun under his chin so he can stare down the length of it, can visualise the angle the bullet is going to come out, and this is much easier. He holds one hand under the barrel to steady himself and the other tight on the trigger. He fires.

He wasn't expecting the recoil. Or the heat.

"Fuck!" The barrel burns his hand where he was holding it and the whole thing jerks backwards so suddenly and violently he actually falls on his ass, dropping the gun to the ground in the process. 

It feels like he got punched in the jaw where the butt hit him. He'd rather get punched in the jaw for real than spend one more second subjected to Scotts laughter.

Because he's absolutely howling, and even if it's objectively funny it's not that funny "Yeah, yeah laugh it up."

He's practically falling over himself as he watches Mike get back up and brush the snow off of his trousers "You- You didn't-" he chokes the words out between giggles "You didn't even hit it."

Mike looks over to where the bottle is still exactly where he left it. God, okay, that's pretty embarrassing. He considers trying again but thinks better of it, instead decides to play the high ground "Whatever." he sniffs, folds his arms over his chest "It's not like your stupid hick games mean anything anyway."

That shuts him up. Or at least gets him to stop laughing "Who you calling a stupid hick?" he stands from the log, swaying a little on his feet "Watch your fucking mouth."

"I'll say what I want, thanks." he sneers, picks the gun up from the ground. He's not letting Scott grab it first- too dangerous "Like, wow, you're good with a gun. Who cares?"

"Oh fuck off. You are so jealous."

He scoffs "Jealous? Of what? It's a stupid, useless talent that isn't good for anything other than... than tacky redneck parlour tricks."

"Keep calling me a redneck, Mike. See where that gets you." he snarls, reaches into his jacket and, oh god, since when does he have two guns?

Mike has the compulsion to point out how redneck it is to be packing multiple firearms but manages to keep his mouth shut this time. Sure, he'd grabbed the shotgun first, but it feels redundant now that Scott's pointing a pistol at him. Even if he had the nerve to try and have some kind of standoff he has a pretty clear idea of who's actually going to hit their target.

His heart's beating too loud. This is ridiculous, and dangerous, and he's not a hundred percent certain that Scott wouldn't shoot him- the crowbar incident is heavy on his mind. He admits defeat and drops the shotgun back into the snow "God, okay, I'll shut up. Where did that come from?"

The redhead smirks, lowers the pistol "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Mike would like to know. He'd like to know what the fuck actually happened this morning, what's been going on while he was away. He'd like to know what the hell he's doing at any given moment, have just a little bit of clarity on where he's going and what he's supposed to do with his life. He wants to know what the future holds for him, and whether he's going to die in the mountains because the longer they're out here the more and more often it seems that that option is thrown on the table. He wants to know if he's ever going to have a stable roof over his head again, and he desperately wants confirmation that Scott still wants him. Because despite his somewhat uncertain feelings in terms of romance Mike has an intense desire to be his absolute top priority. It would mean the world. It would mean he's worth something to somebody. It would mean he has at least one tie to this earth, and really, that's all he needs to keep going.

How unhealthy. He tucks that one away to analyse later "Yeah, I'd love to, but I get the feeling you're not gonna tell me anything." he says, and the redhead just shrugs and grabs his nasty dead snake drink again. He'll admit he's become a little bit fascinated by Scotts affinity with firearms, and he wants to keep him in a good enough mood that there aren't any pointed at him again, so he asks "How'd you learn to shoot like that, anyway?"

And it must have been the right question, because he absolutely lights up, all malice forgotten. God, he must be wasted "Practice. I can show you, if you want."

It's... tempting. Mike likes the idea of being able to hold his own in a shootout, as unlikely a scenario as that may be. You never know- The scenario he's in currently is about as unlikely as it gets, so he'll take him up on that offer.

"Yeah- Yeah, okay. Not worried I'm gonna be better than you?"

"Mike," he rolls his eyes, tucks the pistol away and reclaims the shotgun "That's not gonna happen."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Well for a start, first time I fired a gun I didn't fall on my ass." he retorts and despite the cold Mikes face burns.

"Oh, shut it. Just show me how you did it the first time- that looked cool. How do you know what you're aiming at?"

"Yeah, we're not starting with that. It'll recoil and you'll drop it again. Just- take this."

He hands Mike the gun once more, has him turn back to the makshift target range, basically manhandles him into what he considers an appropriate standing position. Once he's satisfied with that he stands directly behind him so they're pressed flat against eachother, back to front.

"So, if you wanna see where you're shooting you wanna take it up above your shoulder, front hand on the trigger, don't touch the barrel, idiot, and steady it at the back." 

"Like this?" Mike asks, lets him reposition his hands without complaint, too distracted by the way he gives instructions in a low tone, talking from just behind his shoulder. He can smell the alcohol on his breath, can feel the warmth of him through both of their jackets and honestly he doesn't think he's capable of learning anything like this.

"Yeah, that's good." he breathes against the shell of his ear, and when Mike shivers it has nothing to do with the cold. Scott picks up on it instantly, takes his hands off of the rifle entirely to wrap his arms around his waist "You can see where you're aiming now, right? Take your shot. I'll make sure you don't fall over this time."

"Great. Thanks." Mike rolls his eyes. He's so smug, trying to get under his skin with this condescending bullshit when he knows full well that he's already under his skin. Mike's having trouble focusing, and he's aware he's doing this on purpose but that doesn't mean it doesn't work. He wishes not for the first time that he wasn't so attracted to this bastard. It's not fair. He's been nothing but angry at Mike for the longest time and he's only choosing to flirt with him now that he's trying to concentrate, and it's actually managing to make him flustered, and it's not fair.

He aims the gun towards the bottle he'd missed before, and yeah, this feels a lot steadier than whatever he'd been trying to do "Take a deep breath in." Scott tells him, talking softly against the side of his neck and god damn if he doesn't have goosebumps over it "And fire on the exhale."

He follows the orders like he's on autopilot. Deep breath in. His finger twitches on the trigger, he starts to slowly breathe out and-

And Scott cups him through his trousers. He jumps like he's been electrocuted, pulls the trigger by accident and drops the damn thing again, curses drowned out by the echoing boom of the shotgun.

"Not funny." he whips around, shoves the redhead away from him. Scott doesn't care, is too busy laughing his ass off. He groans, tanned skin flushing pink, looks over to where the bottle is still sat firmly in place "You're just making me waste bullets, now."

"S'worth it. You should see your face." he snickers, hands Mike the box of bullets "Here, have a real go. I'll keep my hands to myself this time, promise."

Okay, this time he's going to hit it. He's absolutely determined to do so. This is only temporarily sidetracked when he has to shamefully hand the shotgun back to Scott so he can reload it for him "God, you're fucking useless."

He aims again, holds it exactly like he was shown, shoots a warning glance over his shoulder at his companion who's smiling as innocently as he could ever possibly look "C'mon, prettyboy, hit the damn thing. Prove I'm not wasting my time." This entire game is a waste of time, he thinks. Whatever. He's going to prove he can at the very least successfully fire a gun.

Inhale, exhale, fire.

He's way too pleased with himself for such a minor accomplishment. It's incredibly satisfying to see that stupid green bottle shatter on impact, thrilling in a way he hadn't imagined it would be. He gets it now, how this can be any fun to anyone, wouldn't even mind playing another few rounds. It's funny how that works- games are only fun when you're winning.

"Did you see-" he turns to ask, and is immediately cut off with a kiss.

It's gratifying, warm in the freezing weather, unexpectedly chaste and more affectionate than it has any right to be. It makes his knees weak and there's a hand in his hair and god how could he ever have not wanted this?

Scott breaks away before he's had his fill "Nice shot." he says, the grin on his face a lot less sweet than the kiss had been "You look good with a gun, y'know."

There's a dangerous glint in his eye that Mike ignores. He's just thrilled that Scott has made it clear that he's still interested, unreasonably pleased that he's finally cracked the shell and gotten the guy to kiss him. He's aware of how pathetic that is, but it doesn't matter- he was willing to go to much further extremes to get the same result. If embarassing himself with a gun is all it takes to get back in his good graces then as far as he's concerned he's been let off easy.

"Yeah, well, so do you." Mike tells him breathlessly, because as much as he doesn't share that particular interest he's fairly sure that's what he wants to hear, and he wants see how easy it would be to get Scott to kiss him again.

It doesn't quite work out like that "Glad you think so." he smirks, snatches the gun out of Mikes hands, and then all too suddenly he's once again on the wrong end of a firearm "You know what would be really funny?"

Mike freezes up. What the fuck is this for? It's close, the end of the barrel pushed directly up against his chest, and it's still warm. He can feel it through his jacket and he knows there's still a bullet in there and this has got to be the least funny setup for a joke he's ever heard. He swallows thickly "...What?"

His smirk only widens "If you got on your knees." he says, setting off every alarm bell in Mikes head. He reaches into his jacket and aquires a cigarette, lights it casually and blows smoke directly into the taller mans face "Go on. Prove I'm not wasting my time."

Mike can't even begin to process the implications of that request "You're- You're kidding, right?" he asks, appalled. He's got to be kidding "You're drunk, and you're just trying to make me look stupid. It's not like you're actually threatening to shoot me."

"Right, right, and right again." He's flat out grinning now, thoroughly enjoying whatever mind game he's decided they're playing "But don't you wanna show me how much you like me? That's the whole point of this trip, isn't it?"

Mike doesn't know what the hell to think right now. Being held at gunpoint is making his mind fuzzy and jesus christ he needs that thing pointed away from him. There's this uncomfortable, unsavoury undertone to the whole situation- get on your knees has a familiar ring to it and the image he has in his mind of what's being asked of him is so, so wrong.

"C'mon, don't you trust me?"

It's an interesting question. Mike wants to trust him, wants to beleive he wouldn't go so far as to coerce him into sexual favours at gunpoint. As morally grey as Scott may be he doesn't think he's capable of that kind of evil.

"What are you asking me to do right now?" Mike asks cautiously.

"I'm asking you to trust me."

It's not a helpful answer, but Scott's watching him intently, burningly curious as if his next action will hold significant weight. Mike decides this is a test. A fucked up test for sure, but there's releif in the knowledge that this isn't going somewhere truly nasty. He hesitates for a moment longer, but ultimately chooses to comply. If Scott wants so badly to see that he trusts him then Mike will give him that, because at the end of the day he just wants the guy to like him, and if that means giving in to whatever kind of fucked up power play this is then so be it.

His heart is beating way too loud as he lowers himself to the ground, knees wet where they sit in the dirty snow. He looks up expectantly, hopes to high hell that this really is all he wanted from him. Scott looks almost surprised, like this outcome is fascinating. Mike isn't sure why- He thinks just about anyone would do as they're told while at gunpoint, genuine threat or not.

The releif is short lived. Apparently he's not done with his game, because the next instruction honest to god makes his blood run cold.

"Open up, prettyboy."

"W-what?" the gun is lowered to directly in front of his mouth. It's clear what he's telling him to do. It's also horrifying "I'm not doing that." he balks, shrinking away from the rifle "That's- That's humiliating."

"So?" he shrugs, gestures around the clearing "There's nobody else here. It's just you. And me." 

And the shotgun between us. It goes unspoken, hanging in the air like static, and Mike's head is fuzzy with the stuff- can barely think straight while he looks down the barrel. He can see directly into the depths of it, twin long dark holes where he's acutely aware that there's a bullet waiting at the other end.

He tears his gaze away from his fate. They stare eachother down and Scotts eyes are alight with something most definitely malicious. His hair strikes him as bright and firey in the dwindling winter sunlight, a stark contrast to the grey-green-white of the mountainside, and for a moment Mike feels as though he's looking at the devil himself.

He may as well be. He doesn't know why he does it. Maybe he's genuinely afraid, and maybe he's just desperate for any kind of approval. Maybe he feels worn down and exhausted enough that he'd honestly let Scott do whatever he wanted at this point.

Mike opens his mouth. 

"Wow." he says, slow and drawn out as he flicks his cigarette somewhere off into the snow "You're such a whore."

He really wishes he would stop calling him that. Drunk Scott turns out to be even more of a bastard than regular Scott- Before he gets the chance to argue with that statement he shoves the gun in his mouth. It's bigger than anticipated and it hits him in the teeth, the double barrel of the shotgun too wide to be comfortable. He screws his eyes shut.

This is the most degrading thing that's ever happened to him. It tastes like soot and ash and factory chemicals, and all Mike can see is the image of his own brains splattered across the snow.

"Y'know, Micheal," the redhead starts, and he can hear the grin in his voice "You're an idiot."

He hears the safety switch off with a little click, and the reality of exactly what he's allowed to happen comes all too late. But he trusts him. He has to- The alternative is too grim to think about. He wouldn't actually do it, right?

"I could blow your brains out. Right here, right now, and nobody would ever know."

He shouldn't have trusted him. When he pushes the gun in as far as it'll go it scrapes against his molars, angled just slightly upwards towards the roof of his mouth. Mike can feel himself shaking, the threat of imminent death too much for his fragile psyche to handle. In his panicked mind he runs through scenarios where he pushes the gun away before Scott has time to pull the trigger, but it's not realistic. 

"You ready?" he asks, and to his ears it sounds like it's spoken from underwater. He doesn't know if he's ready to die, but it doesn't matter. It's going to happen anyway.

He keeps his eyes shut tight and waits for the inevitable. He's been on a downward spiral for too long to have the motivation to fight this, and it strikes him as fitting that his death will come at the hands of putting his trust in Scott- from the fact he was naive enough, so stupid as to have faith in someone who time and time again has proved he can't be trusted.

In what he beleives to be his last moments Mike has one thought- He deserves this.

Before he can register what's happening his mouth is suddenly empty. And then the shotgun goes off, directly next to his ear- It might as well have gone straight through his skull for the way it affects him.

It's so impossibly loud. It's flood sirens, and it's church bells, and it's the nuclear bomb that blows the world as he knows it to ashes. In his mind, Mike dies right then and there on the mountain.

He opens his eyes with a ragged gasp like he's taking his very first breath, and the white of the snow is so bright that it blinds him.

But he's still here. He can feel that his face is wet, and he's shaking. Why can't he stop shaking.

He can hear laughter somehwere above him, that awful fucking cackle, maniacal and distant and so wildly out of touch for what's happening around him. His name is being called, he recognises it well enough, he just can't get a grip on what's real or why he doesn't want to look up or why anyone would be trying to talk to him because he's dead and-

"Mike. Holy shit- Why are you crying?"

He snaps back to reality. Why is he crying? What a completely insane question. He just died.

Except he didn't, and when he dares to look up Scott's grinning like a lunatic, no remorse about him whatsoever, as if it's all just some big joke. Like whether his life ends or not is a fucking joke.

Once he realises there was never an intent to kill him the shock is replaced by anger, and Mike finds himself again just enough to raise himself up on shaky legs, wipes away the tears already frozen to his face and asks "Why- Why did you do that?"

It comes out hoarse and he can barely look Scott in the eye as he shrugs carelessly and replies "Cause it was funny."

Mike stills, back to shock but it's a different kind of shock. There's a dark edge to his voice as he repeats "It was funny?" 

"Yeah." the redhead says easily, smirking as he aquires himself another cigarette "I can't beleive you let me do that. I mean, fuck, have some self respect, y'know?"

It's just insult upon insult- no guilt, no care in the world for the fact he's clearly freaked the fuck out, pushed over the edge and so, so close to a mental breakdown. Mike is inclined to attack right then and there, show him how funny it is to nearly die in the wilderness. He would if he could get his damn limbs to stop shaking. His head and heart are numb, the cold of the mountainside felt deep in his bones, and somehow Scott's nonchalance is even colder.

He can't even look at him. Not now, not after that. Mike turns on unsteady legs and forces himself to walk back to the van, wanting nothing more than the darkness of sleep to take him away from this waking nightmare.

"Mike. C'mon, don't be such a pussy- Where are you going?"

He doesn't get a response.

Chapter Text

4th Febuary 2018, 2:08pm

Mike doesn't have a whole lot of memories.

It's par the course with his condition. He doesn't expect to be able to keep track of his own life a hundred percent of the time, which realistically makes it difficult to function as an independent adult. He'd accepted this a long time ago and doesn't shy away from the fact that he needs help here and there. He would be alright, he thinks, if he had good parents who wanted to look after him, but if he had parents like that- hell, even mediocre parents would do- he probably wouldn't have his condition in the first place. But he doesn't want to remember them. That's not what he's thinking about right now.

He's thinking about memories that matter- things that were good. He remembers signing up for some stupid reality show, hung up on the idea that if he could win a million dollars he wouldn't need anyones help. He wouldn't have to worry about aging out of foster care, could maybe go travelling for a while, meet new people and do new things he never had the opportunity to while stuck rotating between the foster system, juvie hall and the psychiatrists office. He wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore.

Obviously it didn't work out like that. He left the show with exactly no money, but he did find new help.

He'd done the best he could to play the part of a nice normal guy and managed to find solace in the existence of a nice normal girl who was willing to give someone like him the time of day. She gave him a lot more than the time of day, honestly. She gave him an out from his life before, a new home and the promise of something better, a white picket fence fantasy and the ideal of being loved. She gave him everything she could and he still cracked, his nice guy facade fading into the ether under the pressure of real adult life, and it took them to the point where she just couldn't do anything to help him anymore.

It was a lovely dream, while it lasted.

After that he found help in the form of his first real true friend. Someone with nothing but good intentions, who looked at him for what he was and knew he was different and instead of pushing him away wanted to put him under a microscope to find out more. Mike never minded being studied- he'd spent the better part of his life being studied and it was nice to have someone do so respectfully. Cam never pushed him too far, never invaded his privacy, not even when allowing him to stay in his own home. And then he ruined that, too. As interesting a specimen as he may be, sometimes there's things that nobody wants to examine, that can't be tolerated even in an analytical capacity. Mike regrets being the way he is. He regrets being so careless and dishonest and self absorbed that even his best friend (if he even still is that) didn't want him around anymore.

He regrets a lot of things. Like losing out on a million dollars. He remembers a sneering, freckle-faced coward of a boy, a liar and a cheat who pushed all of his buttons and used blackmail to get what he wanted out of him. A selfish, manipulative asshole who threatened to spill his secrets and take away the only girl he ever loved. And when it didn't work, when he couldn't take her away, he took away his chance at winning the money instead.

And that's the help he has now. Of course, he wouldn't need any help if he had the money, and there's a twisted irony to the fact that the bastard who cheated him out of it is somehow, in his current reality, the best thing in his life.

Maybe that's because he's the only thing in his life.

The funny thing is, he's good help. He's practical minded, a problem solver. He doesn't give him the pitying looks like Zoey did, and he doesn't shy away from Mikes big complex feelings like Cameron does. If anything he seems to get a kick out of Mikes problematic behavious, weathers through all his issues like they aren't issues at all. But what really sets him apart from all of Mikes other relationships is that, when it comes down to comparing the two of them, he makes Mike feel like the good guy.

And isn't that such a wonderful way to feel?

Mike knows that in the grand sheme of things he's not a good guy- not really. But Scott is worse. He's objectively a terrible person, selfish and remorseless and despite all the lies Mike likes to tell is far more manipulative than he could ever be. He has the uncanny and frankly quite alarming ability to coerce him into things he'd swear up and down he would never do. Like flying off the handle enough to commit full blown assault. Like letting him put a loaded gun in his mouth.

Mike doesn't have a whole lot of memories, but he'll remember last night for sure. It'll haunt him for the rest of his natural life. And the only reason he hasn't ditched the bastard in the drivers seat is because that bastard is all he has.

He tears his gaze away from the window to sneak a glance at his silent companion. He looks like shit, squinting in the sunlight and half dead behind the wheel, and Mike isn't sure if the last leg of their journey has been so quiet because he might regret his actions from last night or if he's really just that hungover. Either way he's not complaining- he doesn't want to talk about it.

They haven't talked about it. They've been very pointedly ignoring each other, the only indication anything happened at all being Mike's newfound constant tremor in his presence. They woke up, made bad coffee and slowly packed up the makeshift campsite in the way that you do when you don't want to be doing anything at all. It's a testament to the fact that Scott doesn't generally drink the way he did yesterday- He's always up at the crack of dawn, almost mechanical in the way his day just starts, like it doesn't even occur to him that he could hit the snooze button and take an extra five minutes. But this morning it was Mike that heated the kettle while he took just about forever to crawl out of the van, grey-faced and miserable, and when he went to go 'take a leak' in the bushes he could hear him retching. Good. He deserves to suffer.

"You were right, y'know." he says as he parks the van, and Mike flinches in his seat. He doesn't like that he has this reaction, and forces himself to summon the nerve to at least make eye contact "Don't let me hang out with Manitoba. Your bullshit Crocodile Dundee ripoff is a bad influence. I feel like I got hit by a truck."

It makes him snort, but even if it is kind of funny he still can't manage a smile. It's ironic that Scott would call anyone a bad influence, but he doesn't comment on it. He's just glad he's hurting.

"Didn't know you were such a pussy." he says on autopilot, and then freezes. But it's clear by the complete lack of reaction to this insult that Scott isn't going to retaliate and Mike finds his confidence start to repair itself. He's not afraid of this asshole. Scott's never won a fight between them, and he's definitely in Mikes bad books right now. If anything this asshole should be afraid of him "Wanna know my hangover cure?"

"God, please."

Mike reaches under his seat, procures yet another cheap bottle of wine and waves it in front of his companions face. Scott practically goes green and gags into his fist, and he can't help but smirk at his reaction.

"You're an alcoholic." he states with no heat behind it. Mike just shrugs, unscrews the cap and takes a swig "Jesus, how can you- Whatever. I'm curing this my way. Wanna get real breakfast? Your 'rations' suck ass."

Vancouver isn't a particularly big city. Downtown only spans about a mile and a half, so everything's within walking distance, and even from the east end where they parked up Mike can smell the ocean. That's what he came here for. He's anxious to see it, the anticipation for the end of his cross-country adventure hot on his mind and he wants nothing more than to stare at the western horizon until he feels like a real person again. Last night was the closest he's ever really come to dying, and in a way he feels like he did. The ocean will regrant him a sense of self- it has to. He's come all the way here for nothing otherwise.

But unfortunately he's made this journey with Scott, bossy sour-faced fucking Scott who is apparently starving to death, and honestly Mike is in the same boat there so he'll wait another hour or so to meet his destination.

Scott's idea of 'real breakfast' comes in the shape of a greasy twenty-four-hour diner. He gets several orders of hash browns and a black coffee and nothing else, which Mike personally thinks is a terrible order, but he pays for both of their meals without discussion so he keeps his mouth shut about it. He'd rather they just eat in silence. When he starts shovelling potato into his mouth with his bare hands, however, he can't bring himself to hold back.

"You eat like a pig." he says, because it's true, and he hates him, and quite frankly it's putting him off his eggs.

Scott narrows his eyes from across the table, doesn't even have the decency to swallow his food before speaking "And you're a stupid whore, but you don't see me commenting on it."

Mike freezes up. Alright, guess they're doing this now then, because he's not taking that lying down and he's absolutely sick of having that word thrown at him. Mike grits his teeth- he isn't afraid of him, and he swears in this moment no matter what kind of insane stunts he dares to pull that he never will be "Look, let's get things straight. I'm fucking mad at you."

He sniffs, straightens up in his seat, and when he says it it's like a challenge-

"Why?"

Why. Why. 

Mike slams a hand down on the table, leaning forwards as he snarls "Because you made me put a gun in my mouth and fired the fucking thing right next to my head. That's why, asshole."

"Okay, no," he starts, and it's really annoying that he's so much calmer than Mike is right now "I didn't make you do anything. You got down on your knees all by yourself, you let me do that. You didn't try to stop me even for a second."

"You were holding me at gunpoint."

"I said I wasn't going to shoot you."

It's even more annoying that that's true "But why do it in the first place? What the hell were you even trying to get out of that?"

He shrugs "It was funny."

"No it fucking wasn't." he snaps "Do you seriously think it's funny to- to what, pretend to execute me?"

"Uh, yeah." he says like Mike is the one being unreasonable "It's funny that your stupid whore ass would suck off a shotgun just cause I told you to."

"I didn't suck the-" he cuts himself off, blind rage taking over. He lunges across the table, fork in hand, and drives it right through Scotts upturned palm.

"Hey!" the rehead protests, and for the amont of blood leaking from between the prongs he sure doesn't react all that much. He removes the fork without so much as wincing, and Mike wishes he'd stuck it in his neck, or his abdomen, or through his fucking eye. Scott's lucky to have nerve damage, because as he wraps his bloody hand with a napkin Mike imagines a litany of ways to really make him hurt "The fuck was that for?"

"You should know what that was for." he hisses, and it all comes pouring out "And you would, if you had a shred of empathy in your entire fucked up, shark-mangled body. I seriously thought I was about to die. I really thought you were gonna blow my brains out, and that's somehow funny to you? God, y'know what, I was right. I had you pegged the moment I met you, back when we were teenagers. You have the nerve to call me a psycho- You're a fucking psycho! You're a straight up sociopath. You don't give a shit about other peoples feelings or how your actions affect anybody as long as you benefit from it. You care so little that you'd genuinely put me through something like that just for kicks. I can't tell if you're a sadist or a masochist or what, but I'm telling you right now that that was super fucked up, and nobody else on the planet would ever think that was funny."

He's struck a nerve there. It's unclear whether it's  more to do with the barrage of insults or the daring mention of sharks, but either way Scott goes rigid, grits his teeth, and it somehow makes him feel better that he's not the only one angry "I'm not a sociopath. My Ma had me tested." he snaps. Mike doesn't know quite what to make of that snippet of information "And I don't see why you're pinning all of this on me- You got on your knees, you let me put the gun in your mouth, you did all that willingly. So tell me, Mike, if what I did makes me a psycho, then what the fuck are you?"

And he doesn't really know how to answer that one. He actually has to think about it, and the plain truth ends up being "I only did it cause you wanted me to."

"No, I just wanted to see if you would."

"But why?" he asks, exasperated "And don't just say because it's funny, cause I think we've established that it's not."

"Agree to disagree." the redhead scowls, crosses his arms over his chest "You're making a huge deal out of this, but fine, I'll spell it out for you. I wanted to see how far I could push you before you run away. And I think it's clear from that little display last night, and the fact that you're still sat here with me, that there isn't a boundary to be pushed." he leans across the table, smirking something wicked "You like me enough that you'd let me kill you if I asked nicely. Fuck, I didn't even have to ask nicely, I could tell you to kneel and get ready to bite a bullet, and you fucking would."

Mike stares at him, slack-jawed "You need to get tested again." he tells him firmly, because that is not a normal line of logic "That's insane. You're insane. I hope you're happy with the outcome of your deranged little experiment, cause I'm fucking not."

"Oh, I am." he confirms, all too smug "And you should be, too."

"What? Why?"

"Cause now you know you can trust me." he says simply. It's so backwards, and wrong, and Mike is just about ready to blow a gasket. He's ready to vault over the table and end his life for real. He'll go to prison, and it'll be worth it.

"In what world would that shit you pulled possibly mean I could trust you?" he demands, slamming his hands down hard enough that the dishes rattle.

Scott rolls his eyes, as if the answer's obvious "Well I didn't kill you, did I? Even though I totally could have. So relax, prettyboy, your life's in safe hands."

For once Mike finds himself utterly speechless. The implications of that statement alone are just... The words escape him. He spends a good minute or so staring at his rapidly cooling breakfast and Scott watches him from across the table, unreadable and calculating and almost definitely the worst person Mike has ever met. He feels himself deflate, the fight draining out of him as he realises that despite being morally in the right, he isn't going to win this argument.

"You really don't see anything wrong with what you did?" he finally asks, feeling numb "Even when you saw how it affected me. You don't feel bad at all?"

Scott contemplates this for a moment before shrugging "Eh. Kinda."

It's ingenuine, and disheartening, and Mike finds himself honestly more sad than angry at this point "I don't think you do. I don't think you give a shit about what that did to me. You say you feel kind of bad now, but if I asked then you're just gonna double down and say it was funny again."

Scott tuts at him, fed up with the repetitiveness of this conversation "Jesus, get over it, will you? It was funny. The only reason I feel any kind of bad at all is cause you started crying like a little bitch. And really, that's on you. I'm not in charge of your emotions, Mike."

It's a really unnecessary slap in the face "Oh, fuck you." he seethes "I thought I was gonna die. Just because you have some fucked up relationship with death where you pop a boner over it doesn't mean I do."

Scott makes a quiet down kind of gesture with his hand, and Mike only realises at that point that there are other people in this diner, and at various points their argument has gotten pretty loud. A family of four in the booth across from them seem to be trying very hard not to stare.

He flushes to the tips of his ears. Nobody needs to be hearing this. He opens his mouth to resume his point but Scott beats him to it "So," he starts, all business "Let's get the facts straight, cause this is just going in circles now. You passed my trust exercise. Congratulations- I'm on your team. You're still here so either you're not as upset about it as you're making out to be, or you've already figured out that nobody else is going to put up with you like I do, and you'll just have to swallow your pride and accept that it happened if you want me to stick around. So the choice is up to you." he shrugs, and grins, and asks "Do you want me to leave?"

Mike goes quiet. That's one hell of a question. On one hand it's become apparent the Scott is actually worse than he thought he was- He's not the person Mike drove half way across the country to see. The person he'd idealised would never have done that to him, wouldn't put him through a traumatic event just to make a point. On the other hand he's right. Mike hasn't ditched him because if he doesn't have Scott, then he doesn't have anyone, and that's somehow worse than having a gun pointed in his face. Even just the threat of being left completely alone is giving him an intense wave of anxiety.

He chokes it down as he takes a moment to reply, but the answer is obvious to both of them before he says it, a subdued little "No." that only makes Scott grin wider.

"Great." the redhead leans back in the booth, content with this outcome "Then we're on the same page."

Well, he wouldn't say that. Mike may be burning with shame right now but he's not going down with no fight whatsoever "Don't think you're getting off that easy." he warns, pointing a finger across the table "Let's just agree that you're a raging asshole bordering on sociopath territory, and what you did to me was so, so wrong, and I'm pathetic enough that I'm letting you get away with it."

"Sure, I'll agree to that." Scott smirks "Don't forget the part where you're a whore."

Mike groans. He's so completely worn down at this point "Yeah, fine, and I'm a whore. Are you happy now?" he has no idea why he's making that stupid concession, as if he should be appeasing Scott in any way.

"Eh. Kinda."

"Stop saying kinda." he snaps, then rubs at his eyes "God I hate you. I hate you so fucking much, but I only did any of that shit cause I like you, and I don't want you to go. Like, how can I hate you and like you? How does that even work?"

"Dunno." he replies "But the feelings mutual."

They lock eyes. There's suddenly a whole different kind of tension at the table.

"If you ever do something like that to me again," Mike tells him slowly "I will kill you. For real this time."

"Oh we're back to that, are we?" Scott leans back, arms crossed behind his head, not even slightly bothered by that threat "You want me so bad it's sickening."

Apparently death threats don't mean all that much between them anymore. Mike fixes him with a deadpan look, picks up his discarded, bloodied fork and uses it to take a bite of his cold breakfast. The way Scotts face falls is well worth such a disgusting action. If this bastard thinks he can out-crazy Mike then he's got another thing coming. He swallows his tainted food willingly and says "I think that's obvious at this point."

///

It's been a long day. A long week. Hell, it's been a long life, and he's only twenty two. He's had more hardship thrown his way than he personally thinks he deserves, but at the end of this venture he at least gets to stand on a beach at the very edge of west and stare out at the ocean.

The whole coast is Febuary grey, dense cloud cover above them holding the threat of more snow, but with the distinct lack of wind they barely move. The Pacific is uncannily still for such a living breathing entity, shallow waves lapping gently against the shore, the vastness of it only amplified by the absense of life. There's no boats out, no brave soul daring enough to swim at this time of year- It's huge and cold and empty, and when Mike looks at it he feels...

He feels nothing. He feels no different at all.

"Smells like shit."

Scott stands beside him, hands in his pockets. They've been here for about three minutes, the only two people on the long stretch of winter beach just silently staring out to sea. He doesn't know if it's the lack of satisfaction from finally meeting his destination or the dismissiveness of that statement that sets him off.

"Wow, what an amazing observation." he sulks, bunching his shoulders up towards his ears "First time you see the ocean and all you've got to say is smells like shit?"

"It does." he defends "Smells like- like salt and fish and, and kind of like, y'know that smell when wood sits wet for too long and starts rotting?"

He kind of doesn't "Some people like the smell of the ocean, you know."

"Yeah, well, I'm not one of them. And I hate fish."

"God, you can't even go five minutes without bitching about something, can you?"

"Hey, you made me come see the ocean, it's not my fault it sucks. This is your thing." he gestures out to the flat grey sea, and Mike can't help but agree. It does kind of suck. It's making him feel worse.

"I didn't make you do anything." he snaps, throwing his earlier comment right back at him "Why did you even come with me if you didn't want to see it?"

"For you." 

Mike drags his eyes away from the coastline, takes a good look at his surly companion. It's easy to forget with the way he acts, but it's also obvious- he can't help the snort of laughter that escapes him as he states "You like me."

"I came on your stupid roadtrip, didn't I?" he says, softest spoken he's been all day, doesn't even try to fight the allegation "As if I'd ever come here of my own free will. Like I said before, there are things in there."

Things, sharks, whatever. Sometimes he forgets Scott has a phobia- He seems so unafraid of anything, and he has to take a moment to appreciate that he did drive him all the way here, and whatever he says it is of his own free will. Mike is aware that he's come way out his comfort zone just to make him happy. It makes it really hard to stay mad at him.

"Don't worry about the things." he tells him "Normal non-mutant things can't come out and get you."

"I know that." he says, but still looks uncertain.

Mike isn't sure what he's supposed to do now. They're here- This was it, the whole plan. He's in the city he wanted to go to, seeing exactly the thing he wanted to see. But now the journeys over none of it feels right. The ocean gave him no clearer perspective on what he wants or where his life is going, and it's incredibly disheartening that he can't think of another thing that would.

Maybe this is his curse- To go on journey after journey and never be satisfied with where he is. There's no happy ending waiting for him. There's no ending at all.

He sighs, suddenly very tired, and sits right down in the damp sand. Maybe he'll try travelling north next once it's a little warmer out. He's heard the Yukon is a beautiful place.

"What's the matter with you this time?" Scott asks, and he doesn't really know how to explain it. He tries anyway.

"This isn't-" he waves towards the sea "It's not what I thought it was gonna be. In my head it was this whole big deal, where I get here and have, like, a moment, and everything just magically works out. Like something out of a movie, y'know? This would be the part where the credits roll. Except it's not a movie, and there are no credits, and I'm still just me in exactly the same situation I was in before. There's no big climactic ending, and I'm starting to think there isn't going to be a moment, and nothing is ever going to work out for me the way I want it to."

Scott's quiet for a minuite, and then- "That's stupid." he says as he sits down in the sand beside him.

"Yeah, I know that now. You don't have to rub it in." he glares at the redhead, elbows on his knees and face cupped in both palms.

"I'm not." he pulls out his pack of smokes and frowns at his cigarette as he lights it "I'm just stating the obvious. You know full well this isn't a movie, it's real life, and the only climactic ending we're gonna get is when we die."

What a lovely statement. Mike can't help but roll his eyes "Wow, aren't you just so deep." he says sarcastically.

He didn't mean to set him off, not really, but Scott starts ranting anyway, animated as he waves around his lit cigarette just a little closer to Mike than he's comfortable with "Oh fuck off. Is that seriously what you dragged me all the way here for? You wanted some kind of magical cinematic moment where the stars align and the sunbeam that shines outta god's ass lights up a path to whatever the fuck it is you think you want? Well, too bad, cause whatever faggy fucking rainbow you're chasing doesn't have a pot of gold at the end of it. All that's waiting is another huge pile of shit, and that's all that's ever gonna be waiting, so get over it."

He punctuates this with a long exhale of smoke and Mike wonders what the hell kind of pep talk that was supposed to be "...Do you even hear the shit you say sometimes? None of that was helpful, y'know."

"I'm not trying to help you." 

"Clearly."

"Shut up. My point is, you're so focused on achieving some dumb make beleive reality where everything's amazing and perfect all the time that you're missing out on the good stuff you could be having right now." Scott turns to look at him "It's like, you're just someone with all this potential, but you get so caught up in your own head wanting all this shit that's never gonna happen that you waste it. And unless you wanna waste your whole life you gotta realise the only thing that matters is what's directly in front of you, in whatever moment you're in.

"Like, look." he points out to the ocean, and Mike follows with his eyes "That's what you wanted to see, right? The best thing you could think of. So you better appreciate it for what it is, cause no matter how much you idealise it in your head, at the end of the day it still smells like shit."

And then Mike looks at the horizon, that straight and infinite line that spans as far as far can go, and despite how flat and grey it all is... It's also kind of beautiful.

And it doesn't make him feel good, more melancholic than anything else, but at least he feels something.

He turns to Scott, who's busy huffing smoke and scowling at the ocean like he hadn't said anything particularly poignant at all. He's fascinating- There's something wrong with the way his head works. He's got to be at least as crazy as Mike is, but it's a kind of crazy where he's also functional, and he's honestly jealous of that. He's a complete bastard, but he's also the only person Mike's met so far that can keep up with him, that isn't afraid of him at all, has seen Mike at his lowest points and wants him around anyway. Sure, he shows it in all the worst ways possible and it's arguable that he doesn't even have good intentions, but he says he's on Mikes team, and when he talks like that, gives him the first bit of clarity and solid advice he's had all year, Mike's inclined to beleive him.

What's directly in front of right him now is both good and bad, and that's okay. Everything is going to be okay, as long as he looks at it from the right perspective. He's feeling a little too much right now, decides he wants to have all the good he can get- He reaches over and plucks the cigarette right out of his hand.

Scott pulls a face, indignant "What the fuck do you think you're-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence. Mike kisses him- It's tentative at first, experimental and uncertain and god he does kind of hate him but when has that ever not been the case? He's warm and tastes like nicotine and smirks into the kiss like he thinks he's won the war, running a now free hand up into dark hair to pull him in closer as he deepens it. But Mike's not letting him win anything anymore. He bites the redheads lip hard and sudden enough to make him gasp and takes full charge as he pushes Scott down into the wet sand, and surprisingly enough he lets him. And then its an enthusiastic game of tongue and teeth, hard and fast and packed with feeling. There's sand in his hair and all over both of their clothes and neither of them could care less, and it's only when he realises he's half boned up in a public space that he stops, pulling away with an indecent little noise that comes from somewhere deep in his chest. He looks down at Scott who's wide eyed and curious and bleeding from the lip, and it strikes him then that whatever the hell is wrong with both of them is exactly what makes them so compatible. There's a reason he came to Scott and not anyone else. This could work.

"Can we swap brains?" he says, maybe a little too loud for how close their faces are. He's straddling the other man with both hands held tightly in ginger hair, and he's not a hundred percent sure what he's feeling right now but the intensity of it is absolutely electric "Actually, screw that. I wanna fuck your brain into my brain. It might fix something."

Scott laughs beneath him "And how would that work, exactly?"

"Don't know." he kisses him again "Don't care. We need to get off this beach."

The redhead looks up at him like he hung the god damn stars. It's a soft look, no malice behind it whatsoever, and for a moment Mike can imagine a reality where they're nothing but nice to each other "We can make that happen." 

Chapter Text

"Okay, well, you smell bad, I smell bad, and we're both covered in sand." Mike argues as they pace through the downtown area "On top of that, I'm not doing anything in the back of your creepy fucking van."

Scott tuts at him "It's not a fucking van if we're not fucking in it." he says, and the wordplay is met with a heavy eye roll "Whatever. I'm funny. Y'know, for a literal homeless guy you sure are a princess when you wanna be."

Mike snorts and grins as he throws an arm around his shoulders "And you're the scumbag too gross to nail a homeless guy. Like, seriously, I'm not being unreasonable here."

He ignores the jab entirely, smirks as he slips a hand into the back pocket of Mike's jeans "Oh, I'm nailing you this time, am I?"

He blushes something fierce "I-If, um. If you want to?"

The sharp-toothed smile makes him nervous, but Scott makes him a little nervous in general, so he tries his best to tamp down whatever reservations he has about letting it go that far "This'll be fun." he says, and it doesn't do anything to quell his anxiety "Hotel?"

///

Scott hands him a twenty dollar bill and makes him go get 'supplies' while he finds a place with a room available on short notice. There's nothing quite like the look a pharmacist gives you when you're a young man alone at the checkout buying lubricant, but Mike has had infinitely more embarassing experiences in his lifetime. This is the most normal thing he's done in weeks.

He gets a text with a hotel location and follows the directions on google maps to find Scott waiting for him in the lobby, grinning like a shark and jangling a set of room keys at him as he enters and god damn aren't they just the sketchiest looking pair of assholes to ever grace this three star establishment. The elevator is too slow for all the building tension, and when the redhead starts complaining Mike readily shuts him up with a kiss that gets way too heated considering a stranger could get in the elevator with them at any time- Scott's feeling awfully handsy, forcibly removes the taller mans jacket and chucks it aside and Mike feels like a teenager again with how hot he is despite the cold hands that find their way up his shirt. But teenagers don't go on cross country adventures that end in hotel room sex, so he's really quite happy to be a full grown man getting felt up by another full grown man while they wait for the elevator to reach the right damn floor already. And the second they're through the door Scott's going for his belt, and he has to all but wrestle him into the bathroom.

"Why do you always have to be so fussy?" he whines as he gets in the shower, and it's uncannily similar to the first time they did this, before anything really nasty happened between them.

"Why do you always have to be covered in something?" he counters, and gets right in with him.

There's no hesitation, no hangups about touching each other, just the joy of being pressed up close under a hot stream of water with only Mike's stupid wet shirt between them. It's nice to feel the sand wash away along with the last few days worth of grime from their camping trip. It's nicer to feel Scotts dick rubbing agaist his thigh, and he has to remind him to at least towel off when they get out, because wet bedsheets are going to suck in the long run.

"You're awful bossy for someone who's gonna be my bitch in about five minutes." 

Mike's knees hit the bedframe and he falls back onto the matress, blushing furiously at the implications of that statement "Don't say that. I don't like it."

"You will." he grins and climbs on top of him, goes straight in to mouth at his neck. Despite his nagging anxieties Mike throws his head back anyway.

"No, seriously," he bites his lip as Scott licks a stripe up to his ear "Don't say that kinda stuff. It makes it sound like you're gonna hurt me."

Scott pauses at that, pushes himself up on his elbows to look down at his bedmate "Don't you trust me?"

Mike goes still, suddenly feeling very far away. The boom of a shotgun echos in his mind, and for a moment he gets lost in an overwhelming sort of dread that makes his body numb. It must have lasted more than just the moment he registers, because then theres fingers being snapped in his face.

"Um. Earth to Mike?"

He blinks rapidly a few times before coming back to himself, and seeing Scott hovering above him only cements why that question sent him into such a vivid flashback "Dude, don't ask me that." he backs up as far as their close proximity will allow "I think you've personally given me some insane trust issues. Like, within the last twenty four hours."

The redhead sits fully upright where he's straddling him, and has the audacity to scoff at such an accusation "I have no idea what you're talking about. Nothing should have given you trust issues, you're just processing the whole thing wrong."

"Fucking- What?" Mike balks "Scott. You don't get to tell me how to feel, and especially not about something that would probably give any normal person PTSD."

"Yeah, well, you're not a normal person, are you? You've had worse." the redhead says, and it comes across as if he actually admires this fact "And if you wanna talk PTSD, try getting mauled and fucking paralysed- that'll give you PTSD. Seriously, the gun thing was nothing." he folds his arms over his chest with an aloof sort of expression, and as skewed a take as that is Mike just wants to get off this topic, because this is not a fun conversation.

"What the fuck is this? What are we doing right now?" he demands, and as much as he wants to tell Scott he's being insanely ignorant he's also not enough of a hypocrite to tell him how to feel about the shark attack "I'm not having a fucking dick measuring contest with you over- over who handles trauma better."

Scott finds that line a lot funnier than it was intended to be and the mood instantly changes, thank god "Yeah," he laughs and runs a hand over Mikes cock, and it probably would have felt good if he weren't so fucking annoyed "Somehow don't think you would wanna have a dick measuring contest over anything."

"Um." he recoils as he takes Scott by the wrist, removing the hand from his body "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, c'mon." he's grinning ear to ear "It's your dick, Mike, you've seen it. I don't think anybody would call it above average."

Yeah, maybe it'd be more fun to go back to the PTSD chat. Say what you want about Scott, he's got a real knack for finding the most offensive thing to say in any given context "I- Why would you- Get the fuck off of me."

Mike shoves him away and he goes tumbling to the side, laughing all the while "Mike, Mike come back." he snickers, not taking it seriously in the slightest as his companion furiously rifles through his suitcase looking for clean clothes to redress himself in "Oh, don't tell me I struck a nerve."

"Struck a nerve? Go fuck yourself." he turns back to face him as he pulls out a fresh pair of boxers "You're unbelievable- Who the fuck is about to bang somebody and thinks, hey, I'm gonna make fun of their dick?"

"I wasn't making fun, you big crybaby." he counters, enjoying this way too much "There's nothing wrong with your dick. It's a normal size. It just wouldn't hurt if-"

"Oh, just shut up, would you?" he inturrupts, then rolls his eyes "I swear to god you get off on humiliating me or something."

"Or something." Scott smirks, lounging back in the bed with his arms crossed behind his head "C'mon, are you seriously backing out now? That's such a bitch move."

Mike stands and whips around to glare at him, furious and frustrated and embarrassed to even be having this argument in the first place "Yeah, I'm backing out. I don't know why I even bother with you- You're a mean-spirited, manipulative piece of shit with absolutely no redeeming qualities, and you're so fucking full of yourself when you have no god damn right to be. Plus, you're ugly." 

Scott takes the barrage of insults without so much as blinking, smirk only growing wider as he says "Oh, yeah, talk dirty to me."

"Oh for the love of- I'm gonna kill you!" 

It's only a few quick strides to the bed and then he's on top of him, a swift punch to the jaw finally knocking that stupid smug look off his face. Scott retaliates with a knee to the gut that knocks the wind out of him, and then it's a mostly naked wrestling match on hotel bedsheets that ends with the redhead straddling his lap once more, pinning his arms down, grinning something wicked and Mike finds himself burning with shame at the fact that he's honest to god hard again.

"Still wanna kill me?" he mocks as he grinds down against his cock. Mike bites his lip to stifle a moan.

"More than ever. Just- Fuck-" he breaks the grip on his arms through sheer determination to fist both hands tightly in ginger hair, pulling him down so their faces are only inches apart "If you hurt me, at all, Im gonna lose my shit. Seriously, I'll go fucking feral. I'll beat you within an inch of your life- I'll break your ribs, take your fucking eye out and throw your stupid freckly ass off the balcony. You understand me?"

The redhead contemplates this for a moment, but doesn't seem all that put off by the slew of threats "Noted. Good thing I wasn't planning on it."

Scott kisses him soundly and, alright, maybe he's a fool for getting back into bed so easily but this is good- He's worked up and furious and fucking horny and the nice thing about making the stipulation on not hurting him is that he gets to bite at Scotts neck and jaw and shoulders as savagely as he likes and the redhead doesn't retaliate at all.

It's only when he draws blood that he gets pushed away "You need to relax." He's told, but that's impossible, because there's a weeping bite mark on Scott's collar bone and he wants to leave a matching one on the other side.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"No, seriously," Scott runs both hands up inside his shirt, and then back down to thumb at his hipbones "Chill out, or you're gonna be all tense and it's gonna hurt whether I want it to or not."

He'd half forgotten where they were going with this, too fixated on mauling the man in front of him "Right. Right, okay." he allows Scott to push him gently back onto the bed, wills himself to calm down and closes his eyes with a little sigh as he feels a hand run over his cock again, pleasant now that there's no accompanying insults. Scott works him over for a while until he's certain Mike has gained a little control of himself again, the occasional low noise escaping him as he strokes his length. Once he's nicely slicked with precome he decides it's time to get things going.

"C'mon prettyboy, get on your front." he instructs, and Mike opens one eye "Trust me, it'll be easier."

He honestly can't stand hearing the words 'trust me' come out of his mouth anymore, but there's no flashback this time. Besides, he's still going to let the guy screw him even after all that, so he follows the order without complaint "Here." Scott lifts his hips up just enough to stick a pillow beneath them.

"This feels stupid." he says, because it does. He feels too exposed with his ass in the air, and it strikes him then that if he feels that way now he dreads to think what it's going to be like actually having something in there.

"Looks pretty stupid too." the redhead chimes, and Mike cranes his neck back to glare at him "Kidding, I'm kidding." he says, taking Mike by the hair and pushing his face back into the pillows "You already know you're gorgeous, you couldn't look stupid like this if you tried."

It makes his face flush, the compliment going straight to his head, and he only goes redder once theres hands on his ass spreading it apart and dear god this is so embarrassing. Why does anyone subject themselves to this? He can't possibly relax this way, and this is going to go so, so wrong, and-

And he nearly jumps out of his skin when something warm and wet touches his hole.

"What are you doing?" he asks, accusatory, twisting his back at an impossible angle to see what's going on behind him.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Scott retorts, and it's a redundant argument because Mike knows what he's doing, but that doesn't make him feel any less weird about it.

"Scott, that's gross, you don't- Ow!" He's cut off with a bite to the asscheek "The fuck did I say about hurting me?"

"Shut up, that didn't hurt." he tells him "And it's not gross, you prude. Nobody's making you do it."

That's true "But you don't- You don't have to lick my- Ugh." He can't even look at him. He's never been so red in the face in his life. 

"I don't have to do anything." he counters, and Mike can hear the smirk in his voice right before he licks a stripe up his crack, and he can't help the way his hips jerk forward in shock "Relax, Mike. Just let it happen."

Part of him doesn't want to let it happen- It feels weird and it's super embarrassing and if he's ever asked to return the favour it'll be met with a resounding no, but he's getting alarmingly used to letting Scott do whatever he wants to him, and when he goes in to do it again it's accompanied by a hand on his cock and, hell, it doesn't feel bad. He buries his face back into the pillows with a groan and wills his body to stop seizing up at the contact.

And about thirty seconds later it actually feels kind of good. His lower back relaxes into the cushion he's propped up on and Scott makes a pleased little noise from where he's- God, he can't even think it to himself- And the hand on his cock tightens nicely as his tongue slips just past the ring of muscle. It's so incredibly lewd, something he would never think to ask for, and the depravity of it has him leaking onto the bedsheets beneath him.

"Oh, god," he mutters to himself, eyes screwed shut. It's the weirdest sensation, hot and wet and just the barest bit of pressure, and he endures a good ten minutes of this until he's achingly hard and no longer minds it at all. When he pulls away he actually whines.

"Fuck." It's said quietly from behind him, like it wasn't meant to be out loud, and Mike hears him uncap the lid of his earlier purchase, feels almost sick with anticipation for what he knows is coming.

It's a little cold and distinctly slimy, and the first finger goes in with zero resistance. If he thought it felt odd to have something touching him back there having something inside was ten times weirder. It's not like he's never fantasised about this- He's been aware of his attraction to men for long enough to entertain thoughts of being fucked, but the fantasies are always of the actual fucking. The preparation part never excited him, but when the second finger stretches him just that little bit more as it slips inside he feels himself twitch.

"Oh."

"You alright?" Scott asks him in a low tone. It's a stupid question, he thinks- He's got two fingers up his ass and the other hand on his throbbing cock, he should be able to feel how alright he is.

"Yeah." he says anyway, just a little breathless "Yeah, you can, um. You can keep going."

Scott laughs quietly from behind him, but it doesn't feel mean. He pushes his fingers in further until they're as far as they'll go, and Mike wonders if he'll actually be able to tell if he finds that sweet spot. If it'll even feel any different.

The question is answered almost instantly- He curls his fingers ever so slightly and it's like a jolt of electricity up his spine and straight to his dick "Jesus fuck."

"Good?" he snickers, and this time it is mean. Mike doesn't answer, just groans into the pillow and tries to relax again as he slowly drags his fingers back out, pushes them back in, and it all still feels kind of weird and totally new but every time he brushes that one spot it's like lighting a match inside him, a heat building up into something unbearable. If he'd only give him a little more friction on his cock he thinks he'd be able to come just like this.

Scott quite maliciously decides at this point that he doesn't need to be touching his cock at all. He whines at the loss of contact, the mounting pressure inside of him all he can focus on now. And when he next slides his fingers all the way in he stops, keeps them right at his prostate and rubs in a circle.

Mike grips the besheets so hard he thinks he might tear them. It's too much, almost painful with the intensity of it- A ragged sort of gasp escapes him and jesus fucking christ he needs to come now.

He reaches down underneath him in an attempt to touch himself, to take it over the edge, but Scott grabs his arm before he can get there and twists it so it's folded uncomfortably behind his back, pushing his torso firmly into the mattress.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demands, and Mike can hear the grin in his voice "I'm not done with you yet."

There's something fairly degrading about being held down and fingered, but Mike can't bring himself to care. He moans into the pillow, can feel his leg twitching as he pushes into that spot again and again and when he slips a third finger in there's practically no resistance. He's fully aware that he's grinding back into his hand at this point, getting desperate for climax, and whatever embarrassment he'd felt when this started has long been thrown out the window. All he cares about is getting more of that.

It seems to take forever before he says "You ready for the real thing?"

Of course he's ready. This teasing is unbearable "Yeah, just- Just do it already." 

"Do what?" he asks, smug as anything, and oh no, he's not playing this game now.

"Oh, don't make me say it." he snaps, makes a frustrated noise as the fingers go still inside him. He goes to push himself back on them and gasps as they're removed entirely, leaving him feeling strangely empty and it's not fair "Fine, fine, just- C'mon, Scott, fuck me."

He doesn't need to be told twice, lifts his hips up that bit higher and Mike can feel where he lines himself up with his hole, just barely pushing at the entrance "God, you're so needy."

"Shut up and- Fuck." he goes tense all over again as the head slips inside. He'd have sworn he was ready but it feels so different to his fingers, too thick and stretching him in an uncomfortable way "Hold on a sec."

"You're alright." he reassures, rubs at his lower back in an attempt to get him relaxed enough to continue "Just breathe."

He follows the order, breath hitching a little when a deft hand reaches back under him to stroke his cock, and then it's a whole lot easier- It slides slowly all the way in, feels hot and full and unfamiliar and good, and when it pushes up against that spot with a firmness that his fingers couldn't he absolutely squirms.

"Oh- Oh my god." his brain's gone fuzzy in a good way, and when Scott shifts his hips just that little bit he goes hot right to the tips of his extremeties "Oh god, I'm gonna-"

The hand on his cock dissapears again and he actually growls, higher cognitive functions unavailable at the moment. It's frustrating as all hell and he struggles against the arm holding him down, much to Scotts amusement.

"You're so impatient." he tells him, repositions himself so he can press his chest up against Mike's back, hooks his chin over his shoulder to talk directly into his ear "You need to learn a little self control, Micheal."

And then he gyrates his hips, not really pulling out at all, keeping him hot and full and the way he moans into the pillow is shameful as he feels his body go pliant. It's both too much and not enough, and he's definitely ruined the bedsheets with how badly he's leaking, and Scott wraps an arm under his waist to hold them closer together and he's never been so close to the edge in his life.

He thinks he might cry if he doesn't come soon, but he can't even try to touch himself again because Scott's got him pinned to the matress with his full body weight and he keeps fucking him so frustratingly gently- It would honestly be less cruel to just have at it and rail him as hard as he wants. But Mike's the one who threatened grievous bodily harm if Scott dared play too rough with him. He's seriously regretting that now, realising that there's more than one way to be mean in the bedroom, and trust Scott to find a way to fuck him up without actually hurting him.

Mike would like to tell him off, demand that he pick up the pace or at least let him touch himself because as mind-numbingly good as this feels there's no way he's going to be able to come totally hands free. It's just not something he thinks is possible for him. But when he opens his mouth to say as much all that comes out is a strained sort of moan. Scott smirks with his mouth pressed against his temple, and then goes and kisses him on the side of the head. It's a loving little action, a gentle press of lips quickly forgotten by the redhead but Mike finds himself flushing all the darker for the tender feeling it invokes in him. It's somehow more intimate than the actual sex. He's way too hung up on it, unable to think clearly in the slightest as he closes in on the end.

"I think we've found a new way to shut you up." Scott growls into his ear, and he moans again. The arm beneath his waist snakes around to grab his cock, and when Scott reaches up with his other hand to hook two fingers in his mouth he doesn't even have the bandwidth to complain about it "Come for me, prettyboy."

And god, he does. It only takes two quick strokes before he spills over onto his hand, and he's sure he makes the most embarassing noise but it doesn't matter because he's gone hot and loose like he didn't know he could, thinks he actually blacks out for a second as Scott fucks him through it. After the last shockwave rides through him he goes kind of limp all over, and the other man stills inside him. He pulls out slowly, and at the start of this he'd never have thought it would feel weird to be empty.

"Good?" Scott asks once more, snickering at him as he flips over to lay by his side. Mike doesn't reply, doesn't even move "Mike?"

The man in question turns his head just enough to look at Scott, who's clearly very pleased with the outcome of this venture. He lets him have the moment- He did get him off pretty fucking nicely after all- And mutters a quiet "Yeah. Good." 

He's half braindead and just a little sore and doesn't offer any more than that. Scott says something else, but he's never felt so relaxed in his life and isn't really listening. He falls asleep before he can tell what it is.

///

5th Febuary 2018, 8:02am

Mike wakes up in a hotel bed. Alone, naked from the waist down and... sticky. It takes about three seconds for the sleep bleariness to fade and his brain to kick back into gear. He sits upright like he's been shocked and takes stock of his surroundings, discovers a coffee in a little paper cup on the bedside table and downs it without a second thought. Still warm. How considerate.

He gets out of bed and stumbles a little, embarassed over how weak his legs feel and the ache in his lower back makes him flush something fierce. Regardless he goes and brushes his teeth in the nondescript hotel bathroom, cleans up the mess smeared across his abdomen and he's definitely going to shower again before he gets back to life on the road. If he's getting back on the road, that is- He honestly doesn't know where he's going from here.

And isn't that just an extra special kick in the teeth. Travelled across nearly the entire country only to still have no idea what to do with himself. The thought of figuring it out is daunting, so Mike makes a very simple and immediate plan to put off the anxiety of living life on his own.

The first thing on the agenda is to find Scott, because why wouldn't it be? The second is aquiring more coffee, because one shitty cup from a vending machine just isn't going to cut it. It's the first time in quite a long time that Mike doesn't wake up hungover, and with the rare power of a clear head first thing in the morning he makes the deduction that he should check the balcony.

And yes he's out here, because of course he's out here, sat in what looks like a plastic lawn chair chainsmoking his weird, confusing little heart out as he watches the day start to light up the grey-green ocean in front of them. Mike is greeted with a raised eyebrow and that stupid condescending smirk he's starting to grow really quite fond of.

"Morning, beautiful. Have a nice catnap?" he asks, and it's meant to be mocking but he can't help blushing over it anyway.

"Oh, shut it. How long have you been up?"

"Couple hours." he shrugs, gestures out to the sea "This is kinda pretty, y'know. Glad I finally saw it, even if it stinks."

He punctuates this with a long drag of his cigarette, and Mike is overwhelmed with a melancholic sort of feeling- He's glad he saw it too.

Scotts profile is different than looking at him head on. He can't see the gnarly facial scar from this side, and when he's relaxed like this with no crease in his brow or poison on his tongue he strikes Mike as actually looking his age. If he didn't know better he'd generally assume he was in his thirties, but they're both twenty two, only a few months apart, and Mike knows that he's technically the older one between them but most of the time he still feels like a lost teenage boy, unsure of himself and the terrifying world around him. Scott doesn't have that issue. In Mikes eyes he's a capable, functional adult who solves every problem in front of him with the sort of rational, analytical ease he could only ever dream of. 

Mike watches him watch the ocean for a long minute, making a detailed mental note of the unmarred half of his face, and only realises he's being weird when dark, grey-blue eyes turn back to meet his own. 

"What?" Scott asks him, and Mike is too taken aback by the sudden picture of his whole face to immediately reply.

It's not like he doesn't know what Scott looks like- He's intimately familiar with him at this point. It's just that for a moment he'd gotten lost in things that he admires about him, for the first time feeling something that he can definitely and wholly pin down as romantic, and when he turns to reveal that nasty scar it's a jarring reminder of all the things Mike doesn't like about him, all the bad he chooses to put out into the world, the lack of remorse and empathy. But that's just him, isn't it? Both halves of his face.

Maybe he finds a certain romance in the scarred half, too. After all, that's the half that means he'll settle for someone as unwell and undirected as Mike.

He twitches minutely where he stands, heat creeping up the back of his neck and over his face at this revelation, and Scott's still looking at him questioningly and all he can think about is that stupid little kiss to his temple right before he came. He finds himself reduced to blushing like a schoolgirl, trailing a suddenly nervous hand up through his hair. He tries to compose himself a little in the wake of his newfound romantic feelings and fails miserably. God damn it. It's like Zoey all over again- If he opens his mouth he knows he's going to start stammering and say something unforgivably stupid and Scott's going to laugh at him for being such a sap because he's not Zoey, and he doesn't like all that romantic stuff, and Mike is very much at a loss on how to express his feelings out loud without making a complete fool of himself.

So he doesn't. Instead he shuffles over to where Scott's still watching him from his seat, intent and ever-curious, and moves the arm brandishing his god-awful cigarette out of the way so that Mike can sit himself determinedly in his lap, legs thrown over one side of the chair and kisses him before he gets the opportunity to mock him for it.

He tastes like smoke and bad coffee and Mike gets the impression he might have skipped brushing his teeth, but in the moment it doesn't matter. The redhead responds enthusiastically, smirking up against his mouth and wrapping a wiry arm around his waist to pull him more firmly up against his chest.

"What's gotten into you?" Scott laughs as he pulls away, and when Mike finds the nerve to look at him again he finds that the crooked smile that adorns his stupid freckled face is the most genuine he's ever seen, eyes creased at the corners, something almost bashful about it.

It's unbearably, sickeningly charming. Mike kisses him again, because he just has to, and it's not fair that a stray hand takes him by the hair to pull him back about an inch, and he's still laughing as he chastises "Mike."

"You can handle me, right?" he blurts out, and he's not sure why that's the first thing he thinks to say, and Scott definitely seems confused by the question, so he tries again but god he's so bad at this "Like, I can handle you, I think. Even the nasty parts. And I kind of- I even kind of get the whole gun thing, cause I know I hurt you first and it's kind of like, like evening the ground, you know? And last night you, um, you definitely didn't hurt me- I don't think you even wanted to- And what I'm getting at is, I think," he pauses, awkward, because Scott's looking at him like he's a crazy person, and he is a crazy person but it still makes him feel bad about himself so he just forces himself to make his point before this gets any more embarassing "Do you think we could do this properly? Like, start over? Without all the trying to kill each other."

Scott's quiet for a moment and Mike has the intense desire to jump off the fucking balcony, but then the redhead tightens his grip around his waist and says softly "I never tried to kill you. You're the one who likes to make death threats."

And when he thinks about it, technically it's fucking true. Mike recoils, burning with shame at the realisation that maybe he's the problem here. He's always been the problem. Maybe Scott's not really the bad guy after all, and that revelation twists something in his chest up so tightly it feels like his heart is being dissolved by his own stomach acid.

"Hey," Scott quickly regains his attention, dragging him straight back out of whatever mental spiral he was about to go down "Don't look like that, I don't mind. I'm surprisingly hard to kill." he says it like it's meant to have humour behind it, but Mike can't bring himself to find it all that funny "But yeah, I can handle you, whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean."

It's a benign reassurance, but then Scott goes and kisses him on the cheekbone and it's silly how much he likes these simple little gestures of affection but it really does make him feel a hell of a lot better "Just quit worrying, will you? Like I said, your life's in safe hands."

Mike goes a little red and starts fiddling with the zipper on Scotts leather jacket "Don't say that. I know you're trying to be nice but, like, it's not like we can do all that much for each other from the other side of the phone."

The redhead blinks at him "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" he counters, confused "It's a couple days drive from here to Calgary. What, am I seriously still not allowed to call you? Even after all- All everything?"

It's the end of the world all over again, but Scott just shakes his head "What are you, stupid? I thought-" he cuts himself off, scowling as he takes a drag off his previously forgotten cigarette.

"Thought what?"

The redhead tuts as he blows smoke out his nose, and Mike thinks he looks disproportionately old again "Forget it."

"No, c'mon." Mike complains "Just spit it out, Scott. Don't be a cagey asshole."

Scott rolls his eyes and abruptly stands up, letting Mike slip ungraciously out of his lap and scramble to find his feet less he hit the balcony floor "Hey!"

"Shut up. Just- god, you're fucking unbelievable. What the hell is wrong with you?" he demands, yellow teeth bared in frustration "You say all that shit and you're still not coming back with me? Like, seriously, where the fuck are you even gonna go? Am I that bad that you'd rather live on the street than in my apartment? Like, fine, enjoy freezing to death in downtown Vancouver I guess, you ungrateful, masochistic fucking freak."

Mike just stands there and gapes at him, because, oh.

"Is- Is that-" he stammers, because he's kind of nervous all over again, and if this is the offer he thinks it is then he could just about pass out with releif "I didn't think that was an option. You'd seriously let me live with you?"

Scott gives him a look that screams holy shit you're dumber than I thought and outwardly groans, slapping a palm to his forehead "As opposed to what? Leaving you to rot out on the street?"

The confirmation should warm him, but it doesn't. Tentatively, he asks "But, like, do you even actually want me to? Live with you, I mean. I don't want another chairty case like when I was living with Cameron."

Scott deadpans "...Were you fucking Cameron?"

"What?" Mike startles, appalled "No! No, I wasn't fucking-" he can't help himself, nearly doubles over laughing. It's ridiculous. He's got a pretty clear idea of what's being proposed here but he still can't really beleive it, it's just so absurd. He sobers himself up enough to ask "So what is this gonna be, then? Like a live-in, um, a live-in boyfriend situation?"

The words been thrown out there now, and luckily Scott doesn't seem to mind. He's got that shark smile on his face, all traces of anger washed away easily now that they've come to an understanding "Eh." he waves a flippant hand and takes another drag of his smoke "I prefer the term bangmaid, but whatever."

Mike snorts, and it's not charming or romantic but neither is Scotts choice of vocabulary, and they like each other, and this is happening, and everything could actually be okay for once.

He smiles. It's a shy little thing, but his next words aren't "Wow. We fuck like one time and you ask me to move in with you? Never knew you were such a sap."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you too." Scott rolls his eyes, but theres no heat behind it. And then he smirks "Speaking of- The fuck was up with you last night? Went and passed out on me like some over-fucked pillow princess. I never even got to finish."

Mike feels his face heat by about a hundred degrees "Um. Yeah, sorry, I just-"

He's inturrupted by warm laughter and an arm thrown around his back. Scott flicks his cigarette over the balcony to free up his other hand and place it in Mikes hair, dragging him down for a firm but chaste kiss "Quit apologising, it was kinda hot. Besides," he takes Mike by the wrist and guides his hand down towards his belt "We got the room till eleven- Care to make it up to me?"

It doesn't really warrant an answer. He doesn't have anywhere he needs to be, or anything he'd rather be doing, and there's no time constraint as to when they need to get back on the road. After all, he's on Scott's schedule now. Mike grins down at him- It's always funny how much shorter he seems up close- And ducks his head to kiss him again.

Chapter Text

Living with Scott is a special kind of self inflicted hell.

It's obvious within the first week why he chose to live without roommates, and that he's gotten very much used to being that way. Mike could have guessed from his last stay here that he'd have a wildly skewed idea of what 'dirty' is, but dealing with it full time is annoying as all hell- Pots and pans used for cooking are dirty so they get cleaned, but countertops with food scraps on them are apparently fine to ignore, and when Mike pushes his oh so controversial agenda that rotting food is gross he takes a stray cloth and wipes the lot of it straight onto the floor and leaves it there, because 'that's where the dirt belongs anyway'. 

It's unclear whether this is a case of willful ignorance or weaponised incompetence. Either way it's infuriating. It doesn't matter though, because it's quickly asserted that until Mike gets a job all the housework falls under his jurisdiction. Okay, fair enough, he's never minded tasks like cooking and cleaning, and he always did those things at Camerons place as a way of thanks, and he figures that if Scott's his boyfriend- Because that's what he is, now- He should probably treat him to at least the same standard as his regular friends. It's easier said than done.

He's critical of everything Mike does- Especially when it comes to cooking. Anything he makes is 'bland' or 'whatever', even if he dumps a gut-rotting quantity of chillies into the mix. Scotts apparent lack of tastebuds is a new regular argument for them, which culminates in a full of brawl one day when he comes into the kitchen, picks up a raw potato and just... Takes a bite straight out of it, because he's got to be doing that just to piss him off. He denies that accusation to the death, says that Mike is just being overly precious and that it's not unusual for him, he just hasn't done it in front of him yet and he's tired of 'putting on airs'. Mike still hasn't figured out how he doesn't get sick from eating fucking raw potatoes. It's not natural. 

He tracks sawdust around everywhere and then berates Mike for the state of the place and not doing his 'one fucking job'. If Mike puts on music then he makes a point to blare tacky mainstream radio stations from the spider infested garage. He holes himself up in there for hours at a time, spends basically all day every day ignoring Mike for work and whatever time is left over gets filled with sniping and jabbing and chainsmoking and doing his absolute best to drive his semi-captive boyfriend up the fucking wall. He's combatitive about the most innocuous little things, like Mike emptying out a drawer of rusty old tools (that shouldn't even be in the bedroom anyway) to have a place to put his clothes, and the insufferable and nearly endless argument over whether it's Scott's room or their room (It's their room. He lives here).

It's fucking annoying. He's the worst roommate of all time, but it has to be said it wasn't entirely unexpected. It's not like Mike thought everything would suddenly change once they officially got together. The word boyfriend means very little outside of acknowledging that they bump uglies exclusively with each other, and just because they sleep in the same bed now doesn't mean they're suddenly in love. The idea is laughable. It's just more of the same dynamic it's always been, he supposes- Great banter, constant bickering, and mutual, obsessive attraction.

And, honestly? Mike is thriving.

After the first few weeks adjusting to this new living situation he decides there isn't any adjusting to do. He's not a guest- This is his house- And he's not going to be beaten into submission. He knows what they have going on is unconventional at best, but that was a major appeal of the whole thing in the first place, and having to fight tooth and nail over every silly little thing has given him an edge he didn't know he needed- His wits have sharpened. He trusts less and demands more. He's never felt so confident in his life.

The sudden surge of confidence, he thinks, in part stems from how obvious Scott is in his affections. He's not shy in the slightest- He's very physical, whether it's biting or hair pulling or the surprising frequent cuddling. There's always hot coffee in the pot when he wakes up a good four hours after his partner has already started the day, and he sporadically comes out of the workshop just to annoy the shit out of him by getting all cuddly while covered in paint and sawdust and whatever noxious chemicals he's been working with in there. He'll grab at Mike and pull him haphazardly onto the couch at random to do silly things like smell his hair and stick grimey hands up his shirt, just because he can. He likes to bother him while he's in the middle of tasks, wrapping arms around his waist from behind and biting at his neck and calls him things like 'beautiful' and 'bangmaid' and 'my moody bitch of a housewife'. It's hard to tell whether the things he says are insults or just wildly skewed terms of endearment. Either way, he seems to be in this for the long run. It's very reassuring.

Mike doesn't know what the day to day looked like before he moved in, but once it becomes apparent that Scott never leaves the house outside of picking up food supplies and equipment for his work he realises that it must have been incredibly lonely. The only times he's seen him talk to anyone that isn't strictly business related is when he starts up the Xbox on odd afternoons and chats shit with Sam for a couple of hours. Mike isn't allowed to play with them, because apparently thats 'guy time', as if he's not also a guy. It's kind of demeaning but whatever, it's nice that he has at least a friend.

So Scott isn't so lonely anymore, and despite all the bickering he makes a point to let Mike know he really does appreciate having him around. He even lets him call the shots sometimes, if he fights his corner enough. One day he argues his way into making him go shopping for house stuff, and they have a row in the homeware aisle over what is and isn't a necessary purchase that Mike inevitably wins because he is absolutely sick to death of having to share Scotts one permenantly damp towel and god damn it wouldn't kill him to own two. Mike takes his notes, and gets better and better at making Scott bend to his will.

It's a very special day when Mike finally breaks him and talks him into selling the god awful stalker van. It's the win of the century. They sold Mike's busted old car for scrap a good while ago, and the money from both sales goes towards a flatbed truck, an old thing in fairly decent condition, dark red and new to them and a perfectly imperfect compromise, and the best part is that Mike is allowed to drive it too. It means he doesn't have to harass Scott for rides anymore, which is honestly a relief to both of them. The new point of contention is that Vito thinks this applies to him too, and takes the truck out for joyrides more often than either of them are happy about.

Scott is quick to remind him that he's the one paying for everything, that he's the one keeping a roof over both their heads, and that Mike is a useless cityboy leech who doesn't understand the value of money. He seems to revel in this fact, gets some kind of kick out of berating him for his 'expensive drinking habit' and when Mike gets fed up and asks him how much he spends on cigarettes every month he smacks him upside the head and reasserts that it's none of his fucking business- He can do whatever he wants with his money. But he still hands over cash to go to the liquor store afterwards.

So he's a complete asshole about it. So what? He's an asshole about most things, and at the end of the day Mike is acutely aware that he is in fact freeloading, a situation he's quite familiar with. It's just that Scott has decided this means he can be as nasty and demeaning as he wants without consequence, and Mike will just have to put up with it. But it's fine. It's all completely fine, because for the first time ever he doesn't feel bad about it.

Mike feels that he puts up with enough that Scott should be paying his keep. It's only fair. If anything he feels empowered for it, can freely demand whatever he likes without any trace of guilt, and Scott will argue but eventually comply and they can carry on with this vicious little cycle indefinitely. And it will be indefinitely, because even when he's at his worst, especially when he's at his worst, Scott still likes him. Nobody's ever really liked him like this before, not in this way of total acceptance. It makes it hard to stay mad for too long, even if he is actively trying to drive him insane.

Mike has come to the conclusion that Scott genuinely just likes the drama, because he's definitely doing this on purpose- Hand crafting an unbearably toxic environment where nobody ever gets a moment of peace and the apartment is permanently filled with tension- Sometimes the tension is sexual, and sometimes it's the kind of tension where somebody is going to end up with a broken nose. Both situations result in them at eachothers throats, in one context or another. 

He doesn't think it's malicious, though- More just makes him wonder what the hell things were like while Scott was growing up, because for all the unnecessary fighting he actually seems happy. He's just weird like that. He's weird in a lot of ways, but Mike is fucking weird too, and it's nice not to have his quirks be the main issue in a relationship for once. It's oddly comforting. They can be entirely themselves, weird and problematic, together.

So with the newfound power of a fixed adress, overflowing confidence and a total lack of remorse Mike does something he never truly beleived he'd get the opportunity to do- He applies for university.

"How attached are you to Calgary?" he asks one evening while scrolling through application forms on Scotts busted old laptop he'd stolen from the garage, the redhead next to him on the couch watching the god damn news on the TV like an old person "Or Alberta in general?"

He shrugs noncommittally, shoves another dry cracker in his mouth and spits crumbs over his lap as he says "Eh, I dunno. I only picked here so I could still drive down to see the family on holidays, but it's not like that's gonna happen anymore."

He doesn't look outwardly sad, but Mike can tell- He always gets that bit far away when he talks about his family. He makes a concious decision to ignore it for now "So, in theory, if I got into somehwere not close by you'd be alright moving with me?"

"I can work from wherever, long as there's space." he shrugs again "Lease ends in April. Just pick a place before then."

The lack of argument on the matter is shocking, especially for such a major decision, but Mike comes to the conclusion that Scott doesn't really want to be in Alberta anymore. It reminds him of 'home', and he's always talking about 'home' as if that title still belongs to the farm and not here in their shoddy apartment. It's kind of sad if he thinks about it too much.

Sometimes, when he catches Scott in moments like right now, when he's doing simple little nothings like watching the news in his underwear, he likes to imagine what his life would look like as a straight man. He's the straightest gay man he's ever met. He can picture it so clearly- He imagines a young lady in place of himself. She's unnaturally blonde and makes wild demands of Scotts time and energy, has a surly attitude to match his own and comes from an equally redneck upbringing. He imagines the teenage pregnancy, and the shotgun wedding, and the abysmal relationship Scott would have with the poor girls father. He imagines them visiting family together, the faceless figure of Scotts mother delighted to see her grandson, red haired just like his dad, and how she would be absolutely over the moon at the news there's another one on the way.

And Scott would be doing exactly the same as he is now, doing nothing but working all day every day without so much as questioning if there's more to life than this, except in this other reality it's not Mike sat beside him, but a wife and kid- A little family unit, imperfect and lovely. He wonders if he'll ever have the chance to live a life like that himself.

It doesn't matter. Mike's given up on that white picket fence dream for now, and he doubts Scott ever beleived he'd get to have that either, because they're living in this reality, the one where Mike lost Zoey and Scott isn't straight and they're just as imperfect as the family he imagines, only a whole lot less lovely.

It's fine though, because sometimes it is lovely. Scott actively encourages him to get back into kickboxing when he mentions that's something he used to enjoy, and Mike doesn't have to wonder why for very long because he's pretty straightforward about how it's 'fucking hot' and volunteers to be his sparring partner on a near daily basis. It's their equivalent of a date (because god forbid they ever do anything so typical and 'girly' as go out for dinner sometime) and it's fun. They're getting really good at beating the crap out of each other, but in a more controlled sort of way, and that bleeds over into the day-to-day so much that nobody's made a genuine murder attempt in months. Mike's living a bizarre homoerotic fight club fantasy and, speaking of, he's gradually managing to convince Scott to watch all his favourite movies. Mike's been told before that he 'mansplains' the plot as and when it's happening on sceen, and that it's fucking annoying, but Scott is the first person he's met that doesn't mind. He's got a million criticisms of his own for everything he's made to watch and likes to talk loudly over movies to the point where Mike's the one telling him to shut up. It never goes down well. Most of the films they watch never really get finished due to this repeated argument that usually turns into a heated makout session, and Mike will swear up and down that this inevitable outcome isn't the reason he keeps initiating movie night. But it is.

And it's nice- Scott engages with his hobbies, and does actually put in an effort to make sure Mike is some semblance of happy, that he feels paid attention to, and miraculously enough he has zero issues with his alters. Says he finds it interesting when he switches, and sometimes even that he likes them.

Scott develops a tense on and off again sort of friendship with Vito. Whether they actually get along depends on the day and how willing Vito is to help out in the workshop, because apparently he's a pretty good assistant when he's not hell bent on going out partying. His relationship with Chester is something that Mike would pay money to see- He's been told that his 'old man' is quite the menace when he gets out, follows Scott around the apartment berating him for his slovenly behaviour and won't pay a lick of attention when he's yelled at to get the hell out of the garage and mind his business, and Scott ends up doing as he's damn well told like a scolded child. Mike can't even imagine it. He has to fight tooth and nail to get Scott to do anything around the house, but Chester has the uncanny ability to win every argument he starts. Perks of being old, he guesses. Svetlana has refused to front ever since Cameron kicked them out, says she doesn't like the way they're living right now and doesn't want any part of it. Mike thinks that's probably for the best- He imagines she wouldn't care for Scott at all. He makes a mental note to let her get out and about sometime, far far away from the apartment. The only one his boyfriend consistently gets along with is Manitoba.

And god, they're terrible. They're actually friends. It drives Mike absolutely fucking crazy hearing about the kind of stuff they get up to- Namely the foraging, meaning his body is consuming wild flora and miscellaneous forest mushrooms while he's not in control- But at least when they hang out together Scott gets all the trigger-happy redneck energy out of his system. They go on regular hunting trips, and apparently one time Manitoba talked him into attending a shady underground game of poker, which they somehow won, and Scott claims was one of the best nights he ever had. Mike finds himself trying to tamp down a creeping sense of jealousy about whatever those two have going on.

He gets his acceptance letter sooner than he thought he would- Only the one, despite all the different places he applied. Honestly his grades were never amazing considering everything that was going on with him back in highschool. April comes around and they pack up the apartment, messily into a great stack of cardboard boxes that barely fit in the bed of the truck, and they head back out west. Mike just knew Vancouver was important to him somehow, and now it really will be his home while he's attending university there.

The psychology course at UBC is fairly prestigious, and his interviewer was delighted to meet someone with such an interesting case of DID. He was told he'd be a joy to have in class. He's overjoyed at the idea of going to a class- He's got all his textbooks months in advance of when the school year starts, pours over them endlessly, because if he's finally going to live this dream he's going to make the absolute most of it. He's determined to be successful, takes inspiration from Cameron and his meticulous studying with the resolution that if he tries hard enough maybe he could be considered a genuis in his field, too. It's all he really thinks about anymore.

But Scott likes to drag him away from his books, calls him 'pretentious' and 'lazy' and demands his help fixing up the new house- and yes they went for a house- A rundown little place a good ways out of the city centre that holds only the virtue of insanely cheap rent and a garage bigger than the rest of the ground floor combined. They got it so cheap on the deal that they'd do all the necessary renovations out of pocket, and as sweet of a deal as that is there's also an insurmountable level of work to be done.

Most of the lower half of the house is rotting. It's ancient and mouldy and the basement is half flooded when they get there. After smelling it the one time Mike refuses to so much as look in the basement, and he makes Scott go down there by himself armed with a flashlight and a toolbelt and drain the stagnant sewage water before whatever diseases it harbours go airborne and kill them both. It takes a full day to empty out and when Scott comes back upstairs coated up to the waist in raw sewage he pretends like nothing is wrong and chases Mike round the house until he screams bloody murder, berating him all the way into the garden so he can be sprayed down with the hose.

In retaliation for being given this disgusting task Scott makes him handle clearing out the attic. It makes Mike wish he had a stronger stomach and just took on the basement himself. It's spider city up there, and not even in the cobwebby way- It's a live infestation and the webs are fresh, and after a particularly agressive huntsman finds its way into his trousers Mike goes up there with a spray can and a lighter and torches the lot of them, zero remorse for the generations of arachnids that die at his hands. He gets a little carried away and accidentally starts a house fire, and once the smoke has cleared and the remains of spiders turned to ash have finally settled Scott spends a good half an hour yelling at him for being too much of a pussy to handle a few god damn bugs.

As they settle into the new house the weather starts to pick up, and instead of working on repainting walls and fixing loose floorboards Scott moves into the garden. He practically lives there, spends countless hours turning the limited outdoor space into what could be considered a very small farm. He grows all kinds of vegetables and even flowers and Mike is perplexed that someone so outwardly uncaring about everything could put so much love and effort into something so... wholesome. He's a real greenthumb. Mike even catches him talking to his plants on occasion, which he'll swear up and down isn't something he does because that's 'so fucking lame', but he's heard it. Sometimes he wishes Scott would talk to him the way he talks to his potato crops. When he starts threatening to buy a goat he puts a pin in the project, suggests that maybe they should start with something like a cat first. It would at least help with the kitchen rats.

And Scott just loves shooting at the kitchen rats. It's like watching a mad child playing with a toy gun, except it's a full grown man with a real gun, and that's a hell of a lot scarier. Mike can't stand to so much as be in the same room when he's carrying around that god awful rusty shotgun, and it's only more annoying that he's dead certain he's the one fixing the rat problem, but Mike insists that there wouldn't be a rat problem if he didn't leave shit all over the floor, and it's only giving him more work to do when he inevitably has to patch up the bullet holes in the kitchen cabinets.

So between the gardening and working on the house and rebuilding his business from a new location Scott is busier than ever. At first Mike is releived to be left to himself and have have some time to study in peace before his college course starts in September, but after a while he finds himself inventing new problems, starting arguments just to drag the focus onto himself and not whatever's so fucking fascinating in the new workshop that he apparently has to spend up to ten hours a day in there. Scott says that time is money, and that Mike is a drain on both. Mike thinks that he might have absorbed a little too much of his boyfriends personality, because he couldn't give less of a shit whether he's a drain on anything- He gets attention as and when he wants it, even if that means barging into the workshop to start a fight over nothing. He thinks Scott secretly likes it anyway.

Living with Scott is a special kind of self inflicted hell, but it's also the best part of his life so far. Things seem to improve every day- Mike has prospects and ambitions and acheivable goals and finally has what looks like a bright future ahead of him. And, honestly, if it weren't for Scott he wouldn't have the opportunity. So he tolerates all his weird habits and revels in their daily arguments and come evening they always make up enough to share a bed again, so it's fine. It's all fine and okay and totally normal. He's content with what his new life looks like, finds every joy in it that he can, even if sometimes it smells like shit.

///

20th May 2018, 9:32am

Scott pads up the rickety old staircase in near silence, playing it safe just in case he's decided to break his routine and stay home today, but when he peeks around the door their bedroom is just as empty as it should be. Mike will have just arrived at his kickboxing class, so he's got at least a solid hour of alone time before he gets back. It's not like he needs the full hour, but maybe he'll read through some of the older entries again, just for kicks.

He needs a decent break anyway, he's been working since five. He goes straight to Mikes dresser and rifles through the bottom drawer, tossing aside a couple pairs of jeans to find exactly what he's looking for, exactly where it should be. Of course this is where he keeps it- pants are the only part of his wardrobe that Scott doesn't steal, and that's only because they're all too narrow round the waist. If he could do the damn zipper up on his stupid model boyfriend's jeans then absolutely none of his belongings would be safe. One of the many perks of having Mike move in is having access to his stuff- What's in Scotts house belongs to him, after all. And of course that includes Mikes diary.

He'd found it shoved haphazardly under the matress one day back in the apartment and has been reading it at least once a week since. If Mike knew he did this- If he so much as knew Scott was aware of it's existence- He'd probably stop writing in it, and wouldn't that just be the tragedy of the century. It's so interesting, not to mention useful, and just full of valuable information he can use to keep Mike exactly where he wants him- Here, safe and firmly under his thumb.

It's not malicious. Not really. The man's a basket case- He needs close supervision, and nobody's going to be better at this job than Scott is. He's smart, you see, and as much as Mike may pour over his psychology textbooks he'll never hold a candle to Scott's natural prowess for mental manipulation. Psychology is easy, and unless you want it to be your job then going to school for it is just plain stupid. Mike will never be able to hold down a job, he knows this, doubts he'll even do well enough at school to get his prissy fucking degree, but god damn if he doesn't just light up when he talks about his newfound waste of time. He's so much happier with some focus in his life. It's endearing, could even be called cute if he were inclined to use such a word, so Scott will let him go to university and live out his silly little dreams and once he's had his fill he'll go straight back to playing housewife. It's what's best for him. Besides, the whole college thing was a great excuse to get out of depressing old Alberta, and it means Mike thinks he's done him a favour.

Scott is good at psychology. It doesn't take a textbook to learn that people get set in their ways. People stick to what they know. People choose their lifestyles and environments and even their partners based on what they experienced during childhood- It's why Scott likes the outdoors and guns and working with his hands, and definitely why he likes to argue as much as he does. And it's why Mike's life is so chaotic.

What he got used to growing up was horrific- He never outright writes about it, but he logs his dreams nearly every day, and if he takes the characters and context and violent actions depicted in these dreams he can form a decent picture of the kind of abuse Mike endured. The whole journal is a real page turner. Never very in-depth, but the reoccurring theme of burning strikes him as interesting.

With everything he's read so far It's fairly easy to put two and two together and see why he's attracted to someone like Scott. The journal answers a lot of his less savoury questions, and since Mike is such a dirty liar (which is so endearing) it's a great reassurance to know exactly what's going on in his head. As much as Mike knows himself, anyway. Scott's certain he can understand him better than that, with enough time and effort.

Scott likes to think he has two best features- his smarts, and his self awareness. He knows he's not a good guy, but it's not like that bothers him, he even takes some pride in it. Only suckers would put themselves through the emotional hell of trying to be a better person, and in this world of prey animals he's a predator that can cheat his way to whatever outcome he desires. So he reads through Mikes dreams and whatever thoughts he decides are important enough to write down and uses that to his advantage.

His boyfriend seems to have grown up in an environment riddled with fear, violence and uncertainty, so it's only natural that he'd do better with more of the same. Scott crafts this kind of environment with the same precision that makes him so good at his line of work. These things take patience and skill, and you have to be careful in selecting the tools you use. If he uses the wrong drill bit then he'll be left with too big a hole that can never really be patched up, rendering the whole peice unusable, and that part of the project will have to be started again. If he uses a method of violence that hits too close to things he experienced in childhood then Mike will likely freak out so hard they'll never recover, so he's limited in ways to make Mike feel at home. Cuts and burns are off the table (he wishes he knew that months ago), but fists are fine, and while Mike claims to have a strong aversion to guns these days that's a trauma directly associated with Scott, so he can still safely put him on edge by carrying his shotgun around the house and watch him flinch every time he fires it into the pantry, whether he'd really seen a rat in there or not.

Because Mike needs that fear. He's drawn to uncertainty, constantly throwing himself into unsafe situations- Dangerous reality shows, living out of his car, mid-winter trips through the rockies. Shacking up with Scott.

It would be funny if it weren't so tragic. Even Scott has enough empathy somehwere deep in his bones to feel pity for the way Mikes head works (or doesn't). It does something funny to his chest- This odd, aching sort of feeling he's entirely unfamiliar with, that inspires him to coddle the man and take responsibility for organising his messy, freewheeling life into something structured, something that has a point to it. Something that makes him some semblance of happy, because god knows that even if he'll never say it out loud, he makes Scott happy. 

Mike is as crazy as they come and rarely even stays the same person for longer than twenty four hours, but he's so much fun. He's a total bitch. He wants all of Scotts time and energy to himself and isn't afraid to say as much, and even if his clingy, demanding attitude drives Scott up the fucking wall it's a new and completely wonderful experience to be so openly desired. Nobody's really treated him like this before, like something worth having. It's yet another reason he loves to read his diary. Every time he reads something that so much as hints at Mike's appreciation for him- That must be genuine because these are his own, extremely private thoughts- It's like he's on fire. It's an incredible feeling, to do something for the benfit of another person and have it actually pay off. He'll do everything he can for Mike, he thinks, as long as he keeps writing nice things about him.

Of course there's things in there he doesn't want to read. He still writes about Zoey every now and then- He's still in love with her. What a shocker. It invokes a sickening sort of jealousy in him he didn't know he was capable of, and maybe sometimes the inability to call Mike out on such a slight (less he find out Scott reads his journal) has him starting petty fights over seemingly nothing. The only saving grace is that for every cringe-worthy entry obsessing over Zoey, there's at least two equally delightful passages obsessing over Scott.

Mike is trying to psychoanalyse him, it seems. As much as his writing indicates that he does have positive feelings for him, he also writes essays bemoaning all the 'issues' within their relationship, primarily things that Scott is entirely unwilling to change about himself- His combatitive attitude, perceived emotional negligence, the fucking cigarettes- But Scott beleives this line of complaint is rather naive. If he can accept that Mike is rapidly drinking himself to death and turns into a different person every five fucking minutes, then Mike is going to have to accept that Scott has his own vices, and quite frankly doesn't have the emotional capacity for what most people would expect in a relationship.

This has definitely been picked up on and thoroughly detailed in the journal. He seems to peice together odd little snippets of things Scott has told him offhandedly, things about his childhood, time he spent actually going to school, takes note of his habits and preferences and is doing his best to figure out exactly what makes him tick. Scott isn't sure if he likes it. Of course, this much time and mental energy spent dedicated to understanding him is incredibly flattering, but it's not really Mikes place, and Scott doesn't feel any desire to be understood. The idea of being fully known the way Mike is trying to know him indicates a certain level of... human connection, and honestly he finds that kind of terrifying. Human connection isn't something he does.

Scott knows this about himself, and has done for a long time. He doesn't think that he feels the way other people feel- He doesn't like people. He barely even liked his own family outside of a very select few. That, and the sense they gave him of belonging somehwere, but he doesn't want to think about them right now. He's busy thinking about how his own superior outlook on the world has lead him to a life of self isolation, destroyed every relationship he's ever attempted to have. It's both a blessing and a curse, he supposes.

Mike is a very special case. He's an individual so lacking in direction and confidence that he needs someone like Scott to tell him what to do, and Scott needs that level of control to feel secure- It helps him not be afraid of wanting. It's so much easier in his mind to handle him like a project, like a human pet as opposed to a real person with their own free will. Mike doesn't know that yet, and he never will because there's no way he would undestand despite all the good it's doing him, so Scott will have to keep treading this very thin line that's definitely worth it because this is the precarious place where they both thrive. Mike has been so much better since Scott took charge of his life. Maybe one day he'll explain this invisible aspect of their relationship to him, once he's in too deep and would never even think to leave, but for now it's better to maintain their status quo and let Mike beleive he has full autonomy. He has everything he wants, why rock the boat?

So he'll carry on reading his journal, and making sure he's not pushing Mike entirely too far, and do his best to keep him safe and, in essence, happy. Afer all, Mike's an idiot, and Scott knows what's best for him.

///

2nd June 2018, 5:45pm

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Scott says too quickly, wiping at his face.

"Don't you nothing me." Mike scolds, exasperated "I just saw you pick up a handful of dirt and put it in your mouth. And you haven't spat it out yet, so what the fuck are you- Are you crying?"

He's sat on the ground out in the garden in amongst a vegetable patch, as if he were trying to hide in the greenery. His eyes are telltale red, and Mike is at a complete loss on what to do right now because in his mind Scott and crying don't exist in the same sentence.

"No." he snaps defensively "Shut up."

Mike shuts up. He's written essays- Partially as preperation for his psych course, and partially out of sheer fascination- On Scott's stunted and unpredictable emotions. This is unprecedented, and as much as he hates to use the word for anything associated with his partner it needs to be handled delicately. He sighs through his nose. This is probably going to be a weird one, but every day of his life seems to be a weird one, so he gears himself up and sits down in the dirt beside him.

"You wanna tell me what's up?" he prods cautiously. And he knows that he will- Scott just loves to inform him of every grievance under the sun. If something is enough to bring someone like him to tears it's got to be worth talking about.

It takes a good minute of the redhead glowering at his feet in stony silence before he concedes "Look." he takes out his busted old phone, pulls up a Facebook tab, and it's... A picture of a baby? An exceptionally young baby by the looks of it, probably only a couple of days old at most. It's being held by an older woman with chemical blonde hair that clashes with her broad, yellow-toothed smile. A young lady sits beside her, mousy and freckle faced and absolutely exhausted, looking nowhere near ready to have her picture taken "Check it." He's got that far away tone, and his voice breaks a little as he says "I'm an uncle. Again."

Oh. Mike looks a little closer at the photo, and asks quietly "Is that your mom?"

"Yeah." he replies "And my sister."

"She looks a little young to be having kids." 

Scott actually snorts at that, and it's nice to get a reaction out of him that doesn't seem entirely miserable "Nah, she's actually a couple years older than me." he says, and as much as Mike thinks that's still a bit young to be taking on the responsibility of parenthood he keeps his mouth shut about it "Looks like it's just me who hasn't made a baby now, and I guess I never fucking will."

Mike blinks at him "You, um... You want a baby?" he asks with a great deal of trepidation, and Scott sighs in resignation before tucking his phone away again. He bites at his lip, an air of existential dread about him as he explains-

"No. I mean, I don't know, but that's not the point. Look- All my brothers already have kids. I've got over a dozen neices and nephews who probably don't know why I had to leave, or why their favourite uncle doesn't talk to them anymore. Or they do, and my asshole brothers are painting me as the fucking devil for all the stupidest reasons, even though I'm literally the only one of us who's never been to jail." he rolls his eyes, exuding bitterness as he continues "They just hate me for being smarter than them, but whatever. It's just- If I ever actually got along with anyone back home, it was Al."

Mike finds himself a little confused "I kind of got the impression you didn't like your brothers."

"Oh," Scott waves offhandedly "No, Al's my sister."

"Your sisters name is Al?"

"It's short for Albertha." he states, and Mike can't help the disbelieving look on his face "Just shut up, will you? It's a family name. What I'm getting at is, that's her first kid, and when we'd babysit our brothers kids she always said how I'd be the godfather for hers one day, cause our brothers are a bunch of fucking morons who never should have reproduced, and now it's actually happened..." he looks up at the sky to avoid eye contact "Nothing. Nada. Not a peep. And it's like- I'm never gonna hear from any of them again, am I? Nobody's gonna reach out, and Al's kids won't even know I exist, and I'm gonna end up old and alone and die as a shameful family secret. That faggot we don't talk about."

Not a whole lot seems to matter to Scott, but it hits him then that this is something that really does. And Mike can't relate. He's never had family he wanted to be around, was desperate to get away from them his entire childhood to the point that foster care was a blessing, and he can't figure out why Scott wouldn't feel the same way after being ousted so viciously by people who won't understand or accept him.

"So what?" Mike shrugs, and Scott looks at him like he may as well have murdered a kitten in front of him, so he clarifies "If none of them will associate with you for the crime of liking men then they're only gonna raise a bunch of little homophobes anyway. So, screw 'em."

The redhead gapes at him, and it appears he's said the wrong thing because his sadness is replaced very quickly by anger "Screw 'em? Screw you, you ignorant bitch. Of course you wouldn't get it- You don't even have a family."

It's meant to be hurtful, and it is. Mike retaliates in kind with a heated "Yeah well, neither do you by the looks of it."

Scotts face twists up in a way where it looks like he might start crying again, and god that's not what either of them need right now, it's too fucking weird. Mike backtracks "And that's okay. You don't need them- You don't need anyone, remember? You're self-made, and you're doing great as far as I'm concerned, so, yeah, if they can't get past their own bigotry enough to see that then they're really not worth your time or energy. And they're definitely not worth crying about."

He takes a moment to think about it and gradually his expression schools itself back to it's default state- Aloof, disinterested, cold "You're right." he concedes, and when Mike looks at him he isn't sure if he's any happier to see mask he's wearing now than the tears from before "I don't need anyone. That applies to you too, you know."

Mike sighs through his nose "Yeah, I know."

And he does know. Scott was doing pretty alright before he came along- Lonely and angry and staunchly himself against the world, but still objectively fine. Mike can't say the same. It's no secret between them that he needs Scott more than Scott needs him. 

He stands from the dirt, feeling like his part is done here. He's been of all the use he can be and his boyfriend seems content to glower at the ground, like he'd rather be alone to stew in his thoughts. As he goes to walk away he stops, because if there was ever a time to say it, it's now-

"But you've got me anyway. Like, I know we don't really say it but..." he shrugs, just a little put out when the redhead doesn't so much as look his way in acknowledgement "I'm here for you, okay? Whenever you want me to be. I do actually care about you."

Radio silence. Mike watches him for a moment before taking his leave. He's all the way to the back door when he hears a subdued little "Mike."

He glances back over his shoulder, and Scott's not wearing his mask anymore. There's a strange look in his eyes, raw and honest and actually kind of awkward, and he isn't sure if the intense spark of something that runs through him is warmth or dread as the man in the dirt says "Feeling's mutual."

Chapter Text

13th June 2018, 11:26am

"I can't beleive you're making me go shopping. For clothes. What's the point in having a boyfriend if you're just gonna pull this kinda girl shit anyway?"

"Shut up." Mike says calmly as they enter the thrift store. He's dragged them to the biggest one in the city- they should have enough options here that they can both leave with something decent, and maybe it's not the most conventional place to look for formal wear but he just likes thrift stores. There are always oddities to be found. He used to go hunting through these places with Zoey, once "We have a wedding to go to in like, a week, and neither of us own suits. And don't start with the whole 'I'll just wear a shirt with sleeves' thing again, cause I know what's in your wardrobe. I do your laundry. You don't have shit."

"Yeah I do- I've got that shirt with the buttons." the redhead defends, trailing just behind.

Mike squints at him "What, the lumberjack shirt? Yeah, no. Besides, the only pants you have are jeans, and that's not something you wear to a wedding."

"It's what I wore to the last one I went to." he counters, and honestly Mike is sick of his bitching already.

"Yeah, well, this isn't some hick wedding." he snaps "It's a nice event at a hotel, and it's already controversial enough that we're going to this thing together, I'm not having you looking like you just rolled in off the farm."

Scott grits his teeth, half fuming as Mike sifts through a rack of second hand tuxedos "Oh, bite me, you snotty bitch. That's what this is about, isn't it? You just wanna show off for her- Pretend you're doing so well for yourself in a twenty dollar tux, to try to make your ex jealous at her own wedding." 

"What?" he freezes, feeling caught out, even though he shouldn't be because that's not what this is "No, no it's not- It's not about Zoey, okay? I just don't want you embarrassing me in front of our friends."

"Oh, yeah, cause those people are totally our friends. None of them even know we're a thing. Don't think I haven't caught on to the fact that you don't wanna tell anyone, either." he gets a little more worked up with every word until he's borderline shouting in a mostly quiet thrift store "You think I'm embarrassing? You're fucking embarrassing. You wouldn't have shit either if it weren't for me- No college, no car, no pretentious fucking tuxedo. You wouldn't even have a roof over your head."

Mike drops his first find back onto the rack and turns to face him with folded arms "Ditch me then." he asserts, pulling his favourite trump card early to avoid the public spectacle they're about to create "Go on. If you don't want me around then just fucking say so."

Scott slumps, deafeated all too easily "That's not what I'm saying."

"Then get a fucking grip and stop yelling at me in public. This argument is getting old." he returns to sifting through the rack. It's a bit of a foul play, Mike knows full well Scott's not going to ditch him. He's inserted himself quite firmly into his life "And it's not that I'm actively keeping us a secret- Anne Maria knows, I just don't think anyone would even beleive us. It'll be easier to make that announcement when we show up together with, like, the same hotel room and stuff. Besides, I don't think you've mentioned it to Sam or anyone either, have you?"

It seems to pacify him somewhat "He knows I have a boyfriend." the redhead admits, kicking his feet.

It's been a bit of a hot topic recently, going to this wedding. Scott seems convinced that Mike has an ulterior motive, that he's going to pull some kind of stunt to try and get back together with Zoey. It's been a nonstop argument, made the energy inside the house unbearable, and Mike-

Well, Mike isn't planning on winning her back. He's been truthful about that. If Scott knew half the feelings he still harboured for his ex girlfriend he's sure it would cause a nuclear fallout of untold proportions- He's definitely the jealous type- But Mike is a proficient liar and has learned to keep his cards close to his chest. His moody boyfriend only gets to know the things he wants him to know, and he's not inclined to tell him anything that would give him the moral right to be angry.

The truth is, if Zoey called off the wedding, if she asked him to run away with her... Well, he isn't sure what he'd do. Not that that would ever happen. Just a silly little scenario he's dreamed about every night this week.

He tries not to feel guilty, and tries even harder not to let that guilt show on his face. Maybe he's so worked up about her at the moment because they're actually going to see eachother soon, and maybe through all of this overthinking he's mentally preparing for the inevitable heartbreak of watching her walk down the aisle. Watching her marry someone else. And then he'll go home, and that chapter of his life will be closed forever.

"But yeah, okay. Whatever." the redhead concedes, flicks through a couple of items on the rack in front of them "Let's find stupid fucking suits. And if you think I'm embarrassing now, just wait 'till I start complaining to anyone who'll listen about my bitchy, miserable housewife."

It makes him laugh despite himself- At least he's got Scott "Quit calling me a housewife. And I think anyone would be bitchy and miserable if they had to put up with you." he nudges him with his elbow, a playful grin on his face "Here, this would probably fit you. I'm expecting you to try stuff on before we leave, by the way."

Scott eyes the suit he's holding up and shakes his head before turning back to the rail "I don't wear black. Clashes with my skintone."

"Excuse me?" Mike blinks, stunned "Clothes shopping is too girly for you, but you have an opinion on what, and I repeat, clashes with your skintone?"

He tuts and puts his hands on his hips, and it's the first time Mike has ever thought he comes across as gay "I'm ginger, Micheal. Black washes me out. If I put that on I'm gonna look, like, grey in the face. What's so fucking funny?"

It's so wildly out of character. Mike has to hang on to the clothes rail to support himself as he chokes back giggles "Nothing, nothing- I- Okay, no black. Got it."

He ends up with an armful of suits that might fit him and grabs a plain white button up shirt from another section, determined to find something that makes him look like he might be doing alright for himself. Scott cares a hell of a lot less, grabs the first thing that doesn't offend him and calls it a day.

They're the only people in the changing room, and he makes Scott go first "If that doesn't fit you you're only gonna have to go find another one. Would it kill you to pick out a few options?"

"Would it kill you to shut up?" comes the surly reply from behind the curtain. Once he's fully dressed he pulls it back to reveal his new outfit with a snarky "This good enough for you?"

Mike just blinks at him, frozen for a second sat on the stool outside the changing rooms, and has to do a double take because what the fuck? It's just a plain old two-piece suit, made of a light grey midweight fabric, but it fits him nicely in the shoulders and makes him look like a serious, possibly dangerous adult, especially with all the scars, and it's just- When did it get so hot in here?

"Um, Mike?"

"Yep." he says quickly, willing himself to remember how to act like a normal human being "Yep, definitely good enough. You, um. You clean up nice?"

Scott snorts at him and rolls his eyes "Yeah, well, appreciate it while it lasts, cause outside of this stupid wedding you won't ever catch me in a god damn monkey suit. I feel like some jackass with a dead end office job."

Mike rests his chin in his palms, looking him over "Nah, you don't look like a desk jockey to me." he thinks for a moment, tries to put his finger on it "It's giving me more... Irish mob."

He snorts again "Irish mob?"

"Yeah." he replies dumbly "Y'know, with the hair and the scars and- God, I'd ask if you wanna go home and play gangsters after this but I don't really wanna ruin your suit before the wedding."

Scott looks down at himself, confused "This seriously does something for you?" when Mike nods at him he just shrugs "Sure, we can 'play gangsters', whatever that means. Who's fucking who?"

The straightforward way he says these things always makes Mike blush. He collects himself enough to smirk back at him "You can fuck me if you keep the jacket on."

The redhead takes another curious glance down at his suit "Huh. Weird. Whatever, you're only making me wanna get out of here faster. Hurry up and try on all your stupid clothes so we can go home already."

Mike takes his sweet time, because he has to look better than Scott at this event (he wouldn't have thought that'd be a challenge, but god damn) and it's only more fun to make him wait. The first thing that fits him properly is a little old fashioned, a full tux in all black, but he thinks he looks nice and he can always ditch the bowtie.

"Okay, thoughts?" he asks as he pulls the curtain back.

Scott wrinkles his nose, nonplussed "You look like a waiter."

It's a little disheartening. He pulls at the lapels "What, this doesn't do anything for you?"

"Why would I wanna fuck a waiter?"

Mike groans "Alright, let's try again." and then he pauses, kind of shy as he asks "I mean, is there anything that would, like..." he waves a hand around, very unsure of his own question under Scotts skeptical gaze "Um. I dunno, I like the suit on you. Is there something I could wear that would-"

"Mike." he deadpans, cutting him off "I couldn't give less of a shit about what you're wearing. Like, ever. I can't even get your shirt off."

That's true. He suddenly feels so stupid for asking "Hey, that's not my fault. There's reasons for that."

"Yeah, I know. And if I'm fine putting up with it then I obviously don't care what you look like." he rolls his eyes, and it's not the compliment he thinks it is "Just pick a fucking outfit already and let's go."

Put out, Mike reenters the changing room. Maybe he just wants Scott to tell him he looks nice- It shouldn't be that hard. He tries his next option, a three peice in dark red that he thinks is really quite flattering. A little quirky, but so is he, so that's fine, but when he comes back out of the changing room the atmosphere sours immediately.

"Wow, isn't that a statement." Scott scowls.

"What do you mean?"

The redhead looks at him like he can't figure out if he's mocking him or just really that stupid "You gotta be kidding me. Don't pretend you don't know about the whole red dress thing."

Oh. Right "Well, yeah, but," he stammers over his words. He hadn't really thought about it at all- He just likes the colour "That's, like, red dresses on girls. I'm a guy."

"You're basically a girl." Scott sneers at him, shoulders bunching up around his ears as he crosses his arms in a huff "And you look fucking stupid. Like, seriously, how could you make it any clearer that you wanna be the one marrying Zoey? Oh, look at me in my shiny red suit, yes I've fucked the bride, yes I'm trying to do it again."

Mike discovers that his mouth his hanging open, and promptly shuts it. That is not what he was going for "Oh my god, could you get any more jealous? So I made an unusual colour choice, so fucking what? It doesn't mean anything." he defends, checking himself out in the mirror. Scott doesn't give a shit what he looks like anyway, he doesn't get to dictate his wardrobe over some bullshit perceived slight "Whatever, I'm going with it. I look good. And I'll say that, cause you sure fucking won't."

He storms back into the changing room, feeling thoroughly called out. As he undresses once more it occurs to him that maybe Scott is right- It worries him that he might have made such a choice subconsciously, the same way his subconscious has been throwing him into dreams where eveything Scott likes to think will happen has come true. It's not like he hasn't tried to get over her. He doesn't know why he's like this.

"Come on," he says, tense and irritable and refusing to analyse his choices any further "Let's go. And tone down the weird jealousy, will you? If you're this bad over stupid shit like hidden colour meanings I don't even wanna think about what you're gonna be like once we're there."

///

16th June 2018, 4:48pm

"Dude. Quit sha-sniping me. It's not funny anymore."

"Yeah, you're right." Scott agrees, smirking as he lounges back on the couch "Stopped being funny about twenty minutes ago."

"Sha-thank you." He waits for Lightning to respawn and immediately kills him again "Dude!"

The redhead snickers into his headset. He can hear Sam guffawing in the background "Oh, so sorry. That's the last time, I swear."

"C'mon Scott, leave him alone." Sam chimes in "He already sucks at this game."

"Excuse me? The Lighning doesn't suck at any game."

"Then why do you keep sha-dying, genius?" Scott rolls his eyes.

"Cause you keep sniping me!"

"Guys, guys," Sam inturrupts this back and forth "You'll never guess who just came online. Hold on, let me add him."

Scott kills Lightning one more time just for kicks, but the latters complaints are cut off when a new and cheery voice greets them "Afternoon, gentlemen. Looks like we're having an early reunion."

"Team men reunion!" Sam announces.

"Team men reunion! Woo!" Lightning helpfully adds.

"Team men reunion." Scott says in a low voice, smirking as he sips neat whiskey straight from the bottle, a relatively new daily habit. It's fine- Fucking Mike's been on the wine since midday "Hey, brickhouse. Never caught you online before."

Brick clears his throat "Well, I don't often play these kinds of games, but I seem to suddenly have a lot more free time at the moment."

"Oh really?" he asks, curious "And why's that?"

The cadet isn't too keen on that line of questioning, which is stupid, because he brought it up. He avoids it entirely, instead asking with a very brisk "So, men. What were we doing before I joined you?"

"Just talking about how Lightning sucks at video games." Sam supplies.

"Oh, no way." the jock exclaims, sounding fed up already "We are not ganging up on the Lightning over dumb pixel sports. He'd love to see you losers beat him at a game of football- Now that's real sports."

"Jeez, really wish we could." Scott says sarcastically "Shame we're all hundreds of miles apart."

"We could always play a game of football at the wedding." Brick chimes in "We're all going, right? No harm in a little friendly competition."

"Sha-hell yeah!"

"Oh, me and three athletically inclined guys in a game of football. That sounds like so much fun." Sam says unenthusiastically.

Scott's not all that keen either "Yeah, that sounds fucking lame. It's a wedding for people we know from a dumb reality show, not a family thanksgiving."

"Someone sounds like a negative nancy." Brick comments with a rather condescending tone, and it rubs Scott the wrong way.

"Who you calling a nancy, captain faggot?" he snarls into the receiver.

"Hey now, there's no need for slurs-"

"I'm reclaiming it." 

"As an insult?"

"Hey guys," Sam says, pointed and loud "Why don't we take a raincheck on the football for now."

"Awh, no fair." Lightning whines, but Sam continues before he can complain further.

"I'm sure we're gonna be busy with wedding stuff anyway. And, speaking of, I'm calling bro-code. I need some good old fahioned team men advice."

And there goes Scotts natural curiosity, but Brick beats him to the mic, friendly as always "I'm sure we're all happy to help in any way we can. Shoot, soldier."

"Okay, alright. Here's the deal." he starts, kind of nervous "Obviously I'd ask Dawn and Zoey first but, like, would it be insanely tacky to propose to Dakota at the wedding? I mean, they got engaged at our event."

"Nah. Do it." Scott says immediately "It'll be funny."

"Yeah, girls love that kinda stuff." Lightning adds.

Brick splutters on the other end of the line "I- What? No." he sounds shocked by such an idea "As wonderful as it is that you're looking to tie the knot with Dakota, someone else's wedding is not the place for it."

"No? I mean, like I said, I would ask first."

"That's not the issue." Brick explains, apparently having an actual opinion on this topic "A proposal should be all about the person you're proposing to, tailored to what would make them happy. It should be an event about them, not a moment tacked onto the back of someone else's marriage. Think about it- Is the proposal you're imagining a moment that would make Dakota feel special?"

It's quiet for a moment as Bricks overly sentimental words hang in dead air. This kind of shit is why Scott could never see eye to eye with him, he thinks- It's so lame, even if he is kind of right. Sam seems to agree "Oh, no dude, you're totally right. I knew you'd be able to help, you're good at this stuff. No wonder even someone like Jo could fall for you."

Scott isn't impressed with all this mushy stuff, it's not what he came online for. He also doesn't like that Brick disagreed with him, and then made him change his opinion. That almost never happens. Feeling bitter, he takes another swig of whiskey before asking "Oh yeah, I forgot about that. How's that going? Still getting pegged by the iron lady?"

It has the desired effect of ruining the mood. Brick makes a choking noise as Sam chastises "Scott!" and Lightning can be heard absolutely howling in the background.

"I didn't- Nobody-" Brick tries to find his words, incredibly flustered. He can picture him on the other side of the line, tomato red and sweating "We never did... That."

Scott releases a real hiss of a laugh, grinning manically against the receiver. Soldier boy is so easy to get worked up "Oh come on you prude, I thought you liked it both ways, anyway. Does she want to? Are you gonna let her eventually? I bet she'd be a real terror with the strap."

Brick actually growls, furious and scandalised "Not that it's any of your business, Scott." he spits his name out like it's got a bad taste to it "But Jo and I aren't an item anymore. And according to her, we never were." There's an open hurt in his voice that makes everyone else in the chat uncomfortable.

"Oh, dude." Sam says, sympathetic "That's harsh. What happened?"

A pause, and then he awkwardly puts his story out there "Well, um. She was never officially my girlfriend, I knew that, but I thought we had something... Meaningful going on. I mean, we sure spent enough time together. But when I asked her to go to the wedding with me, as an actual couple, she freaked out and called the whole thing off. And now I have a lot more free time, I guess." he huffs a sigh that crackles over the headset "Seeing her again next week is going to be weird."

Scott ponders this for a moment as the story strikes him as not entirely unrelatable. Some tiny, shrivelled up little part of him considers offering comfort, but that would be absurd, and sappy, and the fact he even had the thought makes him cringe. Who is he, Brick? He should definitely mock him for it. In the middle of this internal debate his brain decides to half-connect to his mouth and what comes out is "Shame. I'd offer you a pity blowjob but, tragically, I'm off the market."

He knew it was a mistake the second it reached his own ears. There's a chorus of disgusted noises over the chat and Mike, who up until now had been contently buried in a textbook on the other side of the room, snaps his head up to glare at him. He mouthes 'who are you talking to' and Scott mouthes back 'the guys', which only confuses him more.

"Y'know what." He's dragged away from his tense and silent conversation with Mike by a very displeased Brick "This is why I generally try to avoid interacting with you. I'd appreciate it, both for the sake of myself and whatever poor soul has apparently taken you 'off the market', if you didn't try to solicit me again."

This is actually really embarrassing, Scott thinks. Captain prude took him way too seriously, and there's an angry Mike staring him down from the other side of the room. Well, that second one could end up being fun, he supposes. He recollects himself and goes back to playing aloof "Relax, soldier boy, it was a joke. You're not my type." he asserts, and Mike raises an eyebrow and mouthes 'Brick?' as he continues "Like, seriously, you'd know that if you saw the piece of ass I bagged. You and your singular eyebrow couldn't hold a fucking candle."

He thought that might appease Mike somewhat, but he just rolls his eyes and goes back to his textbook, glowering all the while. God, he never appreciates a good compliment. Sometimes Scott doesn't know why he even bothers.

"Well, I'm glad you're content in your relationship." Brick supplies stiffly, and he doesn't sound genuine, but Scott wouldn't expect him to be. He doesn't want him to be. It's ridiculous that he's still so determined to be polite to him.

"What relationship?" Lightning rejoins the conversation, as if he hadn't been on the same call the whole time "Who are we talking about now?"

"Scotts fake boyfriend." Sam informs him, much to the amusement of everyone but Scott himself.

Oh, not this again "He's not fake, jackass." he snarls, taking a long swig of whiskey "I don't get why you keep saying that."

"Cause it makes you mad, and sometimes you gotta get what you dish out." Sam chuckles down the line "And, honestly? He seems really fake."

"I think I need to be filled in here." Brick says, low morale dissipating in light of this hot new topic "What's the theory on the fake boyfriend?"

"He's not-"

"Let's see." Sam cuts him off, thoroughly enjoying himself "So he won't tell me a single solid fact about the guy, except that he's, and I quote 'model-hot'. They only hooked up in February and somehow already live together. And the best part is that this mysterious male model was apparently so taken with Scott that he showed up on his doorstep, unannounced, to gift him a sword, and then took him on a spur of the moment vacation. All those facts check out, Scott?"

Well, when he says it like that it sounds ridiculous. The redhead stews in anger for a good few seconds before grinding out "It was a machete."

It's met with raucous laughter and Scott feels his face burn. God, if they think that's a story worth note then he has no idea what they'd think of all the attempted murder. He's kind of glad Mike made him swear to secrecy about all the ugly stuff "Dude, there is no sha-way that happened to you."

Scott feels himself boil over the edge "Well it fucking did." he snaps, throwing his controller aside less he break it "You fist-fuckers are just jealous that someone tried that hard for me. Like, Sam puts in all the effort in his relationship- Don't think no ones noticed. Brick can't even get Jo to take him seriously, and Lightning has, correct me if I'm wrong, never ever dated anybody. The only person he's kissed is his own fucking reflection. Just cause nothing good ever happens to you losers doesn't mean it can't happen to me."

Radio silence. Scott realises he's seething, and lights up a smoke just to get the rage to subside a little. God damn, maybe he's pretty easy to get worked up, too. He's not used to being the sole subject of ridicule.

"Wow, um." Sam starts awkwardly "Didn't mean to strike a nerve there, man. That was kind of harsh."

"Yeah, like, what did the Lightning do? Why you gotta go calling him out?"

That's a good question, and also a great opportunity to take the focus off of himself. Scott rolls with it easily "The Lightning happens to have an ego the size of Ontario, and none of the charisma to back it up. Like, for real, if you ever wanna get a date then maybe you should take your eyes off your own perfectly chiselled ass and focus on another human being for once."

The athlete doesn't take it very well "The Lightning will have you know that he doesn't want a date, and will never want a date. He's in a happy relationship with himself."

"...What?" Scott demands, thoroughly confused by this statement. The sentiment is echoed by everyone else on the chat.

"You sha-heard him. Lightning gets plenty of interest, girls and guys. He just prefers his own company. He's a solo player."

Huh. This is a new concept to Scott, but it's actually not all that surprising. It also makes for some great new material "Yeah, okay, that checks out. You gonna figure out a way to marry yourself, then? I can just picture the honeymoon," he grins widely as he paints a vivid image "The Lightning, alone in a hotel room, in front of a full-length mirror, just sha-jackin' it and jerkin' it until his arm goes numb. And that's no good, cause then he can't feel that it's himself, so he switches hands and sha-jerks it some more!"

"Oh, go sha-fuck yourself."

"Nah, that's more your bag." 

"Oh my god." Brick inturrupts this unseemly exchange "What is wrong with you? How do you expect anyone to beleive you have this mysterious, amazing boyfriend when you say things like that? I have a hard time believing anyone could get past your... Abrasive personality."

"Abrasive personality." Scott snorts, not offended in the slightest "That's a nice way to put it. Y'know, if I've learned anything in the last few months, it's that good things really do happen to bad people." he leans back and glances over at Mike still buried in his book, and god, it's so true "And I don't care if any of you beleive me or not, he's coming to the wedding, so you'll just have to deal with the fact that I've got my perfect little boy-toy and all you guys get is your right hand."

"Lightning likes his right hand!"

Scott is distracted by something hitting him in the side of the head. The pen rolls off the couch and he looks back to Mike, who throws his arms up and mouthes 'Boy-toy?'

Yeah, okay, he could've guessed he wouldn't like that one. He'll make it up to him later.

"I have a girlfriend, you know." Sam interjects "Eight foot tall, neon orange, super awesome hot- You can't miss her. But like, okay, if he's definitely coming to the wedding then I guess he can't be fake. Unless you've completely lost it and hired an actor or something."

Scott tuts in irritation "Do you really think I'm that desperate?"

Nobody says anything for a few seconds. It's fucking rude, and he's about to start hurling insults again when Brick says "Why don't you just tell us about him, if we're all going to meet him in a few days anyway. What's he like?"

It's a fair point, and maybe he'd do so if Mike weren't so set on breaking this news in-person. But the guys are waiting for an answer, and he's got to say something, or he's never going to hear the end of this stupid fake boyfriend joke, and Scott despises being the butt of the joke.

So he thinks of an answer. What's he like. Well, he's perfect, for a start. He's gorgeous, and feisty, and has this sickeningly optimistic sort of determination despite everything that's happened to him. He's damaged goods, a personification of chaos, fascinating in the same way as watching a car crash in real time. He makes Scott sick with honest to god worry, and yet in the same breath makes him feel needed, gives him this sense of purpose he never really had on his own. He inspires this feeling he still can't place- Has done since that time up in the rockies, sat around the campfire spilling secrets about their unfortunate childhoods, and he only feels it come on stronger as the days go by. It's not quite pity, and it's definitely not respect or admiration, but it's this odd, toe-curling feeling where he wants to sink his teeth into him and never let go, wrap him up in cotton wool and hide him from the world so that Scott is the only person who could hold any influence over him. He's so uniquely satisfying to keep around, quite literally everything he could ever want, nothing will ever compare to this again, could never even come close, and-

And Scott's in love with him.

The revelation comes on like a knife in the gut. It twists at all the most horrible angles, and he can't breathe, and somebody needs to make this feeling stop right now or else all his organs are just going to spill out of him whether there's a real wound there or not. In an attempt to make it just- Go away- He discreetly takes his cigarette and twists the glowing embers into his forearm. It kind of helps, kind of doesn't. He's not sure which feeling is worse.

"What's he like?" he huffs the fakest little laugh, sweating a little as he discards the useless fucking cigarette somehwere on the carpet. He sneaks a glance over at Mike, and when they make eye contact he feels his face burn like it never has before. God, he has got to find a way to play this cool "Oh, y'know. Annoying, clingy, completely insane." he supplies, and Mike glares from across the room. Just to bring the sentiment home, he adds "Gives the worst head, too. Like you wouldn't even beleive-"

This time when something hits him in the head it isn't a pen. It's the whole damn textbook, heavy and solid and nearly knocks the headset off of him as he cries a surprised little "Ah!"

"What was that?"

"Oh, just," he grudgingly rubs at his temple as Mike storms out of the room. He's sure he'll be in for it later, but at least for the moment he doesn't have to keep looking at him and feeling all these fucking feelings that he never really thought himself capable of in the first place "He heard that. Crazy bitch started throwing things at me."

"Huh. Can he hear us, too?" Sam asks "Hi, Scotts shockingly real boyfriend!"

"I'm using a headset, doofus."

"Bad head? Lightning thought gay guys would be good at sucking dick." the jock interjects like he's really pondering the subject.

Scott snorts rather unattractively "You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

"Well, as much as this has been a lovely insight to your home life, Scott," Brick says, sounding like he means exactly the opposite "I think I've had enough penis talk for one day. Can we change the subject now? Or, maybe actually play the game?"

"Wait, wait, one more thing." Sam stops them "I just wanna know the guys name."

Scott pauses at that, debates it for a second, but comes to the conclusion that it can't do any harm. Everyone will find out in a few days anyway. So he says, quite simply and smugly "Michael."

"Really?" Sam asks, and then chuckles under his breath, like a particularly amusing thought just entered his head "Hey, do you ever call him Mike?"

The redhead grins at that, and even though he knows exactly why he's asking says "Sometimes. Why?"

Sam chuckles a little more "Oh, y'know, it's just a funny coincidence. Like, when you bring him to the wedding and Mike from the show is there- Oh hey Mike I can't stand, meet other Mike, my boyfriend. I bet our Mike will hate that."

He can't help it, the laughter just sort of pours out of him. Maybe it's the very recent horrifying revelation of his own feelings, or the stinging open wound on his arm, or maybe it's just the surreal nature of the situation he's in, but he's on the border of hysteria. He laughs so hard that Sam actually says "Dude. It wasn't that funny."

"No, no," Scott rubs at his eyes, not even trying to tamp down the giggles "It's actually really, really funny."

Chapter Text

20th June 2018, 9:16am

"Nobody told me this was a beach wedding."

He says it with the same surly attitude he's had all morning. If Mike weren't so concerned with placating him and maybe getting him to cheer the fuck up before they go see everybody he'd have probably smacked him already. It's been an insufferable journey- Should have been a straight shot from Vancouver to the port, an hour on the car ferry across to the island and then a twenty minute drive to the hotel, but Scott seems hell bent on making this as difficult for him as possible.

The boat ride was fair enough. Mike knows he doesn't like the ocean and willingly indulged his clinginess throughout the duration of it. It's weird when Scott gets nervous, glued to his side and glancing anxiously out the window as if something might just claw its way up the hull of the ship and get him, but it's such a rarity that Mike is more than happy to provide constant reassurance that it isn't going to happen. He hopes this shitty attitude is just residual resentment about being forced onto a boat and not an indicator of the how he's going to be the whole weekend.

And really, the boat was the most enjoyable part of the journey. At least he was quiet. He's spent the whole rest of it bitching and whining, insisting that Mike drive for once since he's the one so invested in this stupid wedding, and apparently feels the need to shit talk just about everybody they know that will be in attendance. Now Mike can appreciate a joke at someone elses expense, hell, he may have joined in a few times, but when he throws around offhanded insults aimed at Zoey he has to grit his teeth and stop himself from saying something stupid. It's only out of insecurity, he reminds himself. If Scott weren't so ragingly paranoid about Mike's alleged lingering feelings he'd have shut it down the moment it started, but as it stands, sticking up for Zoey is only going to enforce the narrative that he does still love her, and even if it's true he doesn't need to give Scott a reason to cause a scene. He's already worried that's going to happen regardless.

"You booked the room, didn't you?" he replies neutrally as he parks the truck "Didn't happen to read the website? Or, y'know, see a single picture of the place?"

"Don't get snarky with me." the redhead snaps back, unbuckling his seat belt and going for the door "God, I need to stretch my legs. That boat was a fucking nightmare."

Mike sees this coming and flips the handy little switch that locks all the doors of the truck. Scott jiggles the handle and then turns to him with barely tethered fury "...What the fuck kind of game is this? I'm not a child, Micheal. Let me out."

He eyes the redhead, unimpressed "You're not going anywhere until we've gone over the ground rules again." he asserts, folding his arms across his chest "Remind me of what they are."

Scott flops back in the passenger seat and groans towards the sky like a petulant teenager as he starts rattling off the demands Mike has made of him for this trip "Rule one- No hitting each other. Rule two- No arguing in front of company. Rule three- Be nice to both the brides."

Mike waits for him to continue, but when it's clear he doesn't plan to he has to prompt him "And the rule you're breaking right now?"

The redhead rolls his eyes and sits up straight again "I'm not wearing a collared shirt the whole time I'm here, alright? It's the middle of June and like, thirty fucking degrees, it's already bad enough I have to wear the stupid suit tomorrow. You're asking way too much of me, Mike- If anyone wants to stare then fucking let them."

Mike sighs, taking a baleful glance at the mottled, partially faded ring of bruising around his neck. Okay, so maybe that's his own doing, but he's not proud of it, and he definitely doesn't want it brought up. Sometimes Mike wouldn't mind if things were a little more vanilla between them. He thinks that that maybe he has this part in his brain that Scott somehow just doesn't- The part that feels shame, that still blushes at the mention of sex, and it's only when he's too far gone in the act that he can actually let loose. He likes to cling to the idea that he'd prefer something tamer, that he's only engaging in anything non-standard because of how gratifying it is to watch his weird fucking boyfriend make heart eyes over being thrown across the room, but that's not really true. The thought makes him feel better about himself, god knows he's a quirky enough guy already, but the facts are that he doesn't do anything he doesn't actually want to do.

That doesn't mean he wants anyone else to know about it "Yeah, yeah, okay." he unwillingly concedes, accepting that Scott's just going to spend his entire life wearing the same dirty tank top "I guess you don't have to layer up. It'd only add to your B.O problem, anyway."

"Hey, fuck you."

"Uh huh. We'll change it up then. Rule four- Nobody, and I repeat, nobody, hears about anything we do in the bedroom. Got it?"

His response comes in the form of a snort and a light punch to the shoulder "What, worried I'm gonna tell everyone you moan like a girl?"

Mike blinks at him, and then shakes his head in disbelief "Yeah, cause that's the part I'm embarrassed about."

Scott rolls his eyes, sick of this now, and takes the initiative to unlock the doors himself "Relax, prettyboy, I know what you're getting at. God forbid anyone find out that perfect nice guy Mike has a dark side."

"I don't. I- Hey." he insists, following him quickly as he exits the vehicle "Scott, I'm serious, I fucking don't. It's just- It's just you. You drag it out of me."

And then he's met with one of those rare genuine smiles. They're facing each other from opposite sides of their cherry red truck, eyes locked over the roof, and it's brilliantly hot outside even for June. Scott's a little sunburnt- He's looked like that since late spring, and Mike swears he's gaining more freckles by the day, and the redhead seems giddy, uncharacteristically shy when he says "Yeah, I know."

It's cute. Why is it cute "Just promise me you won't go spouting off about our personal lives." he practically begs. He just wants to keep some illusion of normal around people they know. And then another thing occurs to him "And don't call me prettyboy in public. It's kind of degrading."

Scott laughs at him, grabbing their bags from the back of the truck and slinging both over one shoulder "So basically, pretend we're a totally normal, bland couple and act nothing like ourselves. Got it." he claps Mike on the back as he starts off through the hotel parking lot, and when he says it like that it sounds like an impossible performance "C'mon, Micheal, let's get this shitshow on the road."

///

"Mike!"

It's been a while. Honestly, a while feels like a fucking lifetime- Mike may as well be an entirely different person at this point, and for a moment he struggles to link the person he was to the person he is, and then crashes both of those into who he was planning to pretend to be right now, and, um. This is too complicated. He feels his planned persona shatter in tandem with his overloaded brain and goes into default bland nice guy mode "Hey, Cam. How's it going?"

They'd checked into their hotel room without issue, dumped their bags and went to go explore the venue. Everyone was to arrive the day before the wedding since it's a little out of the way for most, and the brides thought it'd be more fun to make a multiple day thing out of it. Scott said that 'the guys' (who exactly that moniker includes he still doesn't know) had started a group chat, and that they were harassing him about when he was arriving, demanding that he come play football for some unfathomable reason. Mike figured seeing what that was about is as good a waste of time as any, so they'd been on their way to the garden around the back of the hotel when they'd run into him.

"How's it going?" Cameron repeats, bewildered "Who cares- I've been worried, Mike."

Once upon a time he might have appreciated that sentiment from his old best friend, but right now it makes his eye twitch. There's absolutely no reason that anyone should worry about him. He's doing great "Oh, come on Cam, let's not do all... that." he says good naturedly, trying to stop this conversation before it starts because there's no way in hell he's doing this kind of sappy shit in front of Scott. He can only imagine the mockery "I'm fine. Good, actually. Wanna join us? Maybe we can catch up without all the fussing."

He laughs airily, and at the mention of 'us', Cameron seems to register Scotts existence. He casts a curious eye between them, and it makes Mike pause.

"Oh, right. Can Cameron come play football?" he asks Scott, who shrugs noncommittally.

"I don't care. Hey, shortstuff."

"Um, hi, Scott?" he makes his stilted greeting, a little wary in his presence, and turns back to Mike "And, um, yeah. I'd love to catch up with you. Think I'll pass on the football, though."

"He's not playing anyway." Scott informs him, throwing a casual thumb in Mikes direction before he takes the lead towards the back of the hotel "Hurry it up, nerds."

Mike doesn't appreciate the stand-offish attitude towards his friend, but he knows better than anyone else does that Scott isn't happy in public spaces. He's better off in the woods, or in his workshop, and being here has thrown him straight into default schoolyard bully mode, just like Mike falls into his bland nice guy routine. He realises that he doesn't really know how to act when he's both with Scott and other people- They've never been in this situation.

He and Cameron follow at a distance until they reach the back of the building. It's a nice hotel, he thinks- All high ceilings and large windows without feeling intimidatingly fancy, with beach at the front and a long, well maintained garden at the back that leads onto the kind of temperate rainforest the pacific northwest is known for. It's a big place with a huge green area, likely able to fit well over two hundred people of a night. He breifly wonders how many guests are attending this thing.

'The guys' turn out to be Sam, Lightning and Brick. The former two greet Scott with enthusiasm, immediately cajoling him into whatever nonsense they had planned. Mike and Cameron say hi to the other guys before claiming a nearby bench, and Mike is nonplussed to see that his boyfriend is happily ignoring him in favour of bickering with his former team mates.

They never really came up with a plan. It only now strikes Mike as weird that nobody knows they're together, and that it's probably going to seem weird that they are together, and that it's going to be even weirder to actually broach the subject. He kind of regrets not sending out a PSA or something. They'll just wait until someone asks, he thinks, ease into being around people first. It's probably better that nobody knows as of right now, because the highly offensive fact that Scott isn't paying him a lick of attention would seem normal without that vital information.

"So, um," Cameron starts once they're settled, and as much as he knew he'd see him here, god is it fucking awkward "Let's get it out of the way- Are you mad at me?"

It's a fair question. Mike is getting good at being honest with himself, and he knows full well he's a shitty friend. Sure, he's picked up the slack with Anne Maria and they actually talk regularly now, but the way things left off with Cameron made it... Well, he didn't really want to talk to him.

He's not mad. Never was. If anything he's actually thankful for having his world turned upside down, because things are lot better now than they were a year ago. He just thought some space from each other would be good for the both of them and, realistically, if he divulged any details of his new lifestyle to Cameron then all he would do is worry. Mike is so tired of the worrying.

"No. No, Cam, I'm really not." he reassures him "Look, I'm sorry I never called, it's just- I've been busy, y'know? I figured you were pretty sick of me anyway." 

He looks oddly guilty in light of this statement "I was never sick of you, Mike, I hope you know that."

"I'll take your word for it." he replies, and breaks out a winning smile "Besides, I should actually be thanking you. Turns out I really needed that kick up the ass to get my life together. I'm starting university in September, you know."

Cameron lights up with interest "Really? That's amazing! What are you studying? I'd love to compare notes."

Mike tells him all about his psychology course, his plans and goals for the future and in turn Cameron informs him of the heavy workload of med school and- And it's nice. The easy chatter is a solid reminder of why he and Cameron were such good friends in the first place, and they were never not friends, but it warms him to know that they still get along so well. This is the kind of friends they'll be going forward, he thinks- Regular discussions of their studies would be a welcome addition to his routine, and god knows he's never going to get that out of Scott and his bizarre anti-education standpoint.

"I'm so glad you're doing better, Mike, I really am. You seem... Happy." he notes, and pushes his glasses back up his nose as he continues, slightly embarassed "I have to admit, I did worry. A lot. But Zoey said that Dawn said that Brick said that Anne Maria said that you were fine, so I just assumed that if you wanted to stay in contact then you would reach out first. I kind of regret that now. I missed you, okay?"

Mike feels a nostalgic kind of ache in his gut "Yeah, I missed you too, buddy. I swear I'll call once we're back home again."

"You better." Cameron says with a disarming smile "Or next time we're in the same vicinity I'm putting a tracker in you."

It's unclear whether it's meant to be a joke, and he can't help but note the distinction between 'on you' and 'in you'. Mike, just a little uneasy, goes to clarify this but is duly inturrupted by a commotion on the field.

"This is stupid, but fine, we'll ask him. Mike! Mike!"

The man in question turns to face the rest of the guys, who are heading towards them at pace. Scott's got a smug look on his face, and Sam is already nearly falling over himself laughing as he asks "Okay, here's a weird one for you, and I'm sorry to ask this in general, but, are you and Scott dating?"

Oh, okay. Guess they're doing this now, then. All eyes are on him, especially Camerons questioning gaze, and jesus christ he's not good at being put on the spot like this. It's so awkward, and part of him has the compulsion to just say no and reconfigure the plan to hide this fact from everybody, but Scott's looking at him expectantly and he knows there'll be a whole host of trouble at home if he dares embarass him by denying it. He shouldn't want to deny it. So he bites the bullet, bunches up his shoulders a little as he supplies an unenthusiastic "Uh... Yeah?"

He doesn't get the response he's expecting. He's not sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasnt Sam and Lightning falling into eachother and then to the ground in a fit of laughter. Scott only looks more annoyed, but at least it's not at him for once.

"Wow." Brick says, arms folded over his chest and holding in some giggles himself "I guess it's nice you two are getting along well enough to be in on a joke like that. How times change, huh?"

"Jesus fucking- It's not a joke, buzzcut." Scott shoves the cadet roughly so that he stumbles to the side, and Mike doesn't know why he's jealous of that, but he is.

"Do not put your hands on me." Brick asserts as he rights himself.

"Oh, get over yourself-"

"Mike, is this- What's going on?" Cameron starts, and god he'd just love to sink into the floor right about now. He's already way out of his comfort zone discussing his personal life, the type of guy who's perfectly content fading into the background, but things just never work out for him that way. With a slightly shaky hand he reaches into his back pocket to aquire his hip flask, a tatty old thing Scott had given to him which had apparently once been his fathers and he never used. He takes a swig of bitter liquid to tamp down his anxiety "Hey! Don't- It's ten in the morning-"

"Don't you tell him what to do." Scott rounds on him with the kind of brash assertiveness that makes Cameron shrink in on himself "I tell him what to do, and I say it's fine. He ate breakfast."

Mike pulls a face, horrified by this bold statement, and quickly downs the rest of his flask. He'll have to refill when they get back to the hotel room.

"Oh, um," He's never seen Cameron so uncomfortable "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cross some kind of..." he gestures randomly between them, and the easily accepted implication makes Mike want to die on the spot.

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration "You're fine Cam, there's no-" he cuts himself off, turning to Scott with a scowl "What the fuck are you talking about? You don't tell me what to do. Why would you say that?"

"I'm defending you, jackass." he snarls in reply.

"Could you maybe do it in a way that isn't so fucking embarrassing?"

"Oh, am I embarrassing you? The guy who starts drinking at ten in the fucking morning?"

"You just said it was fine!"

Sam and Lightning stopped laughing a long while ago, the high energy of the group dissapating in the wake of this awkward encounter. The gamer squints at them in confusion "This joke is getting weird."

"It's not a-"

"Well well well," a new voice joins them "Nice to see we're all arguing already. Fill me in, what's the new drama?"

Mike has never been so happy to see Jo. She's a welcome distraction, and even better Anne Maria has arrived with her. He takes this golden opportunity to change the subject "No drama. We were just about to play a game of football. Right? You guys wanted to play football for some reason?" he stands from the bench and stumbles a little. Shit. Maybe he shouldn't have started the day on neat spirits.

"Sha-hell yeah!" oh, thank god for easily distracted Lightning "C'mon losers, Lightning's gotta show you how the professionals do it."

"Okay, I'll bite." Jo grins devilishly "Wanna team up, for old time's sake? Bet we could crush these chumps with our eyes closed."

"Are you sure you want to play with us?" Brick confronts her, emphasis on the 'us'. It only then occurs to Mike that there was something going on with them, wasn't there? Clearly it's not going very well.

"Don't make it weird, Brick." she replies, arms folded across her chest, and almost everyone does a double take at the lack of an insulting nickname "Hi, by the way. That's usually how you start a conversation."

Mike sighs in releif that the attention is no longer on him- Trust Brick and Jo to go straight at each others throats. It's short lived, however, when Scott pokes him quite aggressively in the chest "Don't think this is over." he warns.

He frowns at the offending hand "Getting a little close to breaking rule one there, Scott."

The redhead rolls his eyes "So what? We already broke rule two, and you started it."

"Oh, you two have rules?" Anne Maria joins them, smirking something wicked "Nice to see this is still working out, somehow."

He can barely express how happy he is to see the sanest person he knows, who happens to also be the only person he doesn't have to explain himself to "God, Annie, you have no idea how much I missed you." and it's true. He goes in for the hug first, contented by her little 'Awh, Mikey,' and squeezes her tightly while carefully avoiding putting a dent in her hair.

"Hi, Anne Maria," Cameron starts, leaning around his shoulder to adress her "Just to clarify- This is real, and you already knew about it?"

He waves towards the alleged 'couple' and Mike is once again overwhelmed with the compulsion to deny it. Luckily he isn't given the chance to slight Scott in such a way, because Anne Maria answers easily as she pulls away from the hug "Oh, yeah, they're for real. Couldn't freakin' believe it myself, honestly."

Cameron opens his mouth to say something, but when he casts a wary glance at Scott who's giving him some major stink eye he clams right up, snapping his mouth shut into a firm line.

"Okay." he says quickly, giving no further comment as he heads back to resituate himself on the bench. It's out of character- Mike was expecting a barrage of socially inappropriate questions, and as much of a releif as it is to not be interrogated about his relationship it's actually more unnerving that Cameron's got nothing to say at all. Even worse, as he sits down he immediately pulls out his notebook, scribbling furiously on the lined pages. God knows what he's writing, but Mike is certain it's going straight into his file back home.

"Hey, crazy and crazier, you two playing or what?" Jo calls from out on the field, where the four getting ready for the game have already established lines in the dirt to indicate goal areas "Annie, you can be the ref. You can even borrow my whistle."

"Wow, ain't that a privilege." she rolls her eyes "Sure, let's do it. This is just like thanksgiving with my brothers."

Mike wasn't planning on playing at all. He's not in the mood, mildly inebriated and already annoyed. As much as it seems like a bad idea he follows Scott out onto the grass, and as they approach the group he asks her "Which one of us is supposed to be 'crazier'?"

She snorts in response, unperturbed by his agitated tone "You can decide that between yourselves by duking it out on the field. Dirtfarm, you're on my team."

"You're crazier." Scott informs him with a smirk and a sharp elbow in the side. Mike shoves him off.

"I'll show you crazy." he warns, and Scott lights up at the threat. Typical "C'mon, let's play some fucking football, I guess."

Mike ends up on a team with Brick and Sam, who ask him if he's any good, and he has to tell them he honestly has no idea. He's never really taken part in team sports. Mike's area of expertise is kickboxing and gymnastics, so Brick happily takes the lead.

"Alright- We're up against a professional football player, an athlete hell bent on crushing me, and... Well, I'm not exactly sure what's wrong with Scott, but it isn't good news." he says, and pulls a face "These teams are not evenly distributed."

Mike snorts at the statement. Isn't good news. He doesn't know the half of it.

"You're telling me. I don't have the leg-foot coordination for this." Sam says, looking nonplussed to be dragged into this, and then he laughs like a particularly funny idea just occurred to him "Hey, y'know what's weird?"

"What?"

"How the other team is made up of all the sorta, like, bad guys from our season." he cranes his neck to look at the other group formed in a huddle "What if they made another season of Total Drama, except it was, like, all contestants from previous seasons, and the teams were good guys versus bad guys? That'd be awesome. I bet they wouldn't invite me back on the show, though."

Mike and Brick exchange a glance "Um, right. So as I was saying," their self-appointed leader politely moves them on "We may be at a disadvantage, but at least we'll be the ones playing fair. Let's have a good game, fellas."

///

Mike regrets entertaining this stupid game at all. He watches Scott tackle Brick to the ground for the third time since this started, and for every time it happens he clenches his teeth that little bit harder until he thinks he may actually be grinding his molars down into a fine powder.

"Foul, foul! I'm callin' a foul." Anne Maria blows her borrowed whistle loud enough to make everyone cringe.

"What? That wasn't a foul!" Scott argues from where he's straddling Brick, and is promptly shoved aside by the cadet.

"Are you kidding me? You threw dirt in my eyes." he gripes, rubbing at his eyes vigorously.

"Ha!" Jo hoots victoriously, even though there's no victory to be had "See, this is why I wanted freckleface."

"What, so you could get a million penalties for cheating? I am watchin' you, ya know." Anne Maria informs her, unimpressed. She blows the whistle again, much to everyone's chagrin "Ball to team not-jerks."

"Mike, can you take this one?" the cadet asks him, chucking the pigskin in his direction. He catches it easily "I don't think I wanna play offence anymore."

He can't blame him. Brick's endured more than enough physical trauma for one day, and they've only been playing for twenty minutes. Maybe if Jo didn't trip him up every thirty seconds, or Scott wasn't determined to do nothing but play attack dog they might have scored by now, but it's been a shitty game of Lightning making touchdowns on repeat without anyone having the nerve to try and tackle him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll give it a go." he says warily, and Scott's got that shark grin on his face, and he gets the feeling his boyfriend status isn't going to get him a free pass on bodily harm. Good. As long as Scott breaks their rules first then he's in the moral right to clock him in the teeth- He's sick to death of watching the bastard flirt with Brick. It's not fucking cool.

They get in formation and the whistle goes again, and Mike uses the base knowledge of this game that he's aquired in the last twenty minutes to mark his path across the feild. Is he playing quarterback right now? He has no idea.

Mike doesn't see the appeal of football, it's just a whole lot of running around and jumping on each other, no artistry whatsoever, but when familiar hands clamp down on his shoulders with enough force to stop him in his tracks he gets more excited about this pointless game than he has been since the start. It throws him off balance, long legs continuing on instinct and he slips and falls ass-backwards into the mud with a soft 'oof'.

"Callin' foul!" Anne Maria shouts.

"No, it's fine!" he calls back, and then glares up at the redhead from where he's laying in the dirt "What the fuck was that? You'll jump Brick, but you won't jump me?"

"What?" Scott chokes on the word, unsure whether to laugh. He looks funny from this angle, upside down and looming over him. It's not particularly attractive and Mike is keen to drag him down to his level "Where's that coming from? I'm just following your precious fucking rules, Mike."