WWAWR - [12] It's the Real Thing that Keeps Me Hanging On
Chapter Twelve [PG13]
It's the Real Thing that Keeps Me Hanging On
With a final forlorn gaze up the stairs, Ramiele picks up her bags with a sigh. They are all mood-dampening thoughts, the thoughts that run through her head; thoughts of never coming back into this house ever again, thoughts of never simply hanging out with the rest of the contestants, of never being able to turn to Michael or David or Brooke for advice on some such thing with life or with music. She knows, of course, that it had to come to this some day, that, of course, everyone's weeks are limited until they get to the finale, but she supposes she has the right to be slightly selfish. But only slightly, because she knows that everyone else staying deserves to be there.
As she walks into the living room and leaves her bags by the entrance, she is greeted by a tackle-like hug from Kristy Lee, to be followed by a gentler Syesha, and both of them have already been crying, long before Ramiele had even reached the room; she can tell by the way their eyes are redder than Brooke's, who follows Syesha, and hugs Ramiele tightly.
"No matter what," Brooke whispers into her ear as she hugs tightly, and then lets go. "We're always going to have your back, no matter what."
"Aw, Mama Brooke," Ramiele smiles sadly, and then lets herself be enveloped in the Arizonian's arms. It is sad to think of not being able to get the warm, comfortable hugs from Brooke anymore, but she thinks to herself, You can do this for a few weeks, Ramiele, and then it'll be the finale, and the tour, and everyone'll be together again.
Brooke pats her on the back before she hands her over to Carly, who is standing nearby the younger David and Jason. Carly's eyes, although watery, are smiling, and Ramiele cannot stop the tears from forming and falling down her cheeks. She's going to miss all of them, she really is, and it is hard to let go of Carly, of David, of Jason, once they have wrapped her in their arms.
"You'll be fine, Rami," Carly assures her with a firm nod. "Don't forget to call, all right?"
"Yeah!" David echoes, and Ramiele is close to throwing herself at Archuleta. She isn't the best at literature, and calculus isn't particularly her strength, but she really enjoyed their study sessions where she, too, would learn and relearn several things from David's assignments. "You'd better call, Ramiele. I'm going to bug you for calculus!"
Ramiele grins as Jason drapes an arm around her and begins to tickle her on the sides. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she says in between giggles and gasps as she pulls away from Jason, playfully swatting the young man with the dreadlocks, "but I'm looking forward to be bugged for calculus!"
The older David and Michael walk on over, and Jason pushes her slightly toward the male Cook, whose tears trigger more and more of Ramiele's. David opens his arms and without hesitation, Ramiele flings herself into his warm embrace, and the both of them are crying, David into her shoulder and Ramiele onto his shirt. They've gotten close, the both of them, and there's not one thing about him that she isn't going to miss. This is the one hug she never wants to be over, but she knows that it has to end, and she pulls away from him, wiping away her tears on her sleeve. David smiles at her, wiping away his own tears before saying, "Don't worry. If anybody knocks you down, I'm going to knock them out."
The Filipina laughs, and nods. "I'll make sure to tell you."
David nods at her, "You better," and then hugs her one more time before walking over to Carly and Brooke, who hug him simultaneously.
Michael smiles down at her in an attempt to mask the teardrops that are threatening to fall from his eyes, reaching out and pulling her close to him, and she lets herself relax in the tall Australian's embrace before she pulls away and looks up at him. No matter how strong Michael's exterior seemed, the tears were free-falling down his cheeks, and Ramiele has to look away and collect her breath before she looks back up at him. He hugs her again, and lets her pull away once more, before gripping her shoulder affectionately, and leaving his hand there as a comforting gesture. It is so tender and caring of him that tears she has fought so hard to keep in fall out.
She looks down in slight embarrassment before she speaks, because what she's about to say to him is supposed to be his business and his business only, but as Michael looks at her expectantly, knowing full well that she had something to say to him, she throws caution to the wind and tosses away all her inhibitions and anxieties about his response as she says, "Sorry about that." Michael waves it off, and she trudges on, "First of all, Michael, I --I wanted to thank you. For everything. You've helped me with so much, and --you know, you-- you've been like a second dad to me."
Michael's voice is thick with emotion as he coos, "Aw, Rami. Thank you."
"Wait," and she giggles as he holds her even closer and pats her head, "wait, I'm not done yet." Immediately, her face sobers, and the expression on Michael's face turns serious. "Michael," she begins slowly, shaking her hands to rid herself of the nervousness that has started to build up again, "Michael, you know, I --I've been noticing things."
Michael looks at her, and there is an expression on his face that she doesn't know what to interpret as --surprise, or pleasure. She frowns confusedly, but remembers her point, and then cranes her neck and tilts it to the side so that she is looking past Michael and straight at David. Michael looks at her inquiringly, before following her gaze, and it is unmistakable --the very sight of David puts a smile on Michael's face, and she is sure it works the other way as well. Ramiele has to tug on Michael's arm to tear his gaze away from David, and when she looks him in the eye, she says firmly, "Look. I've been noticing things between you and David, Michael."
He looks at her with what she is sure is surprise, and even a little bit of --fear? "Ramiele, I --"
She smiles gently, reassuringly. "Michael. Michael, David's become like an older brother to me, and because of that, all I'm asking you to do is make him happy." Michael opens his mouth to say something, but she shakes his head, and he shuts his mouth immediately. "All I'm asking you to do is keep a smile on his face, Michael. Can you do that for me?"
Michael looks down at her, straight in the eye long and hard, before his lips crack into a smile, and he pats her on the shoulder. "Thank you, Ramiele," he says to her, and suddenly, two simple words have all the meaning in the world. "And I promise, Rami. You'll always see a real smile on his face."
Ramiele hugs him back tighter than she had hugged anyone else. "Good," she says playfully. "At least, now I can leave with a peaceful mind." They share a laugh, before she tells him truthfully, "Out of everyone here, I'm really glad it was you, Michael. I really am."
The smile on his face is small, but it is reflected in his eyes, genuine and sincere. "You don't know how much that means to me."
The Filipina looks over to David, and she smiles. "I think I do."
If one had made the decision to ask David on one of his better days, he might have been able to explain the feeling of emptiness he has, now that Ramiele has left the house. If one had asked any of the other Idols what they felt with Ramiele no longer among them, even if they read the dictionary back and forth one hundred times, they wouldn't have been able to come up with a proper way to describe the eeriness of the silence that falls around them so awkwardly; the only way they had decided to deal with it was to flock to their separate rooms, the girls gathering in one and Jason heading on over to young David's room, because he knows how affected David is. It's strange just picturing the Idol home without Ramiele, but experiencing it is completely heartbreaking. David might be the one who has taken it the hardest, after Kristy Lee and Brooke weeping over their lost roommate, but Michael isn't necessarily sunflowers and unicorns, either.
It pains Michael to see David in such a state, with a dead emptiness in his eyes that the Australian has never seen before --now that he's seen it, he never wants to see it; never again-- and he cannot look David in the eyes for fear that any sort of moment would break the younger man in such a fragile state. He raises his arm and gently, oh so very gently wraps an arm around David's shoulder, holding him close and letting him know that he is there for him I'm always here for you, Dave. David doesn't move, doesn't flinch at the sudden contact, but instead nods, his head moving as though he is a puppet whose string is being pulled. Michael's heart aches for him.
To be honest, Michael is going through a hurricane of emotions as well, and in such a state, only one person has brought him up from it. Perhaps, in time, David may become that person, but right now, there are so many emotions he needs to release, and they need to be let loose now; they're threatening to take him inside-out. He exhales, clutches David close to him, and then whispers, "I'm going to go downstairs, okay?"
David makes an incomprehensible sound low in his throat, and Michael doesn't know whether to take it as approval or disapproval until David nods twice. Michael releases David, and then stands up. As he begins to move away, a hand grabs at his wrist, and Michael turns back to catch David's empty eyes. Michael's heart breaks in so many ways, just simply looking in David's dead eyes, but he gulps it all down and says quietly, "Dave?"
"You're not going anywhere, right? I --I mean, you'll only be downstairs, right?"
There is a child's vulnerability to be found in David's voice, and that does it for Michael's heart. It is as though he can feel it exploding within him. He stabilizes himself by using his other hand to take a hold of David's, grasping it tightly, and saying, "I'm just a flight down the stairs away, David. I'm not going anywhere."
David nods, and reluctantly releases Michael. Michael nods, opens the door, and exits, leaving the door to their room slightly open. He turns away quickly, and brings up his hand to wipe away the tears that have fallen from his eyes. Oh, David.
He walks down the stairs, quickly recovering to greet Kristy with a half-hearted wave, locking himself in the telephone room before all of his emotions have free reign. They're starting to run away from him now, lining up as marathon runners would, and he gets to the phone just in time, sitting himself somewhat comfortably on the sofa.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, ignores the fact that maybe, just maybe he's taking up Syesha's time right now, and lets his fingers dial a number impossible to forget.
Stacey begins to put away all of the sketches she's got of the newlyweds' home, tucking it away in a folder before depositing it in the drawer to her left. The newlyweds had dropped by her home office today to give her specifics --they wanted their vases, no matter what, to be baby blue; Stacey had smiled, because even if his general answer to 'What's your favorite color?' is blue, she knows that Michael has quite the liking for the shade-- and they had just left, bright smiles and laughter coming from them as they excited the home she shares with Michael. She finishes straightening the pens around her desk, preparing to leave the room to head on up the stairs, but the phone rings, and she moves back behind her desk and rushes to pick it up.
"Hello?" she tries to say as brightly as possible.
"Hey, Stace," her husband's voice comes from the other line, and she smiles widely. "I --I saw you last night."
Stacey holds the phone close to her ear, draping a leg over the other as she leans back in her seat, "I know, sweetie. I saw you, too. And I may not be the first person to say this, but I thought you looked fantastic last night."
"Thanks," he answers her, and she nods even though he can't see her.
"Have you been able to get some rest, Mike?" she asks him, just as she hears his voice go, "How's your week been so far?"
They both pause momentarily, before she giggles and Michael lets out a snort. "Ladies first," he says, and she can almost see the smug grin on his face.
"It's been a great week so far, babe, thanks for asking," she replies. "I've been working on sketches for these newlyweds, and they actually just left. They wanted their vases to be your shade of blue."
"The baby shade?" She giggles. "That's great, Stace. That's --that's great." He trails off, and the tone in his voice clearly states that there is something else that needs to be said; he doesn't say anything further, though. There is an uncomfortable pregnant pause, before she hears Michael sigh on the other line.
She takes it as her cue to charge on. "Something's bothering you, Mikey." She doesn't need to end it in an inquiring note. She knows there's something bothering him.
"It's --"
"Before you say anything, Michael Johns, if you even dare to breathe 'It's nothing,' I will never make you your strawberry coladas ever again."
He laughs on the other line, and she smiles, relishing in the sound of his laughter. "You know how to get things out of people, don't you?"
Stacey smiles and spins around in her chair, facing the window and appreciating the beauty of their garden outside. "Yes," she agrees. "Now that we've established that, tell me what's wrong."
"I dunno where to start," he tells her, and if she closes her eyes and thinks hard enough, she can picture him shrugging as he says so. "It's just --it's been weird." He sounds like he's having trouble putting into words what he's thinking. She waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts, and when he begins to speak again, she pays close attention. "We've all just gotten really use to having Ramiele around, you know, and then last night happens, and boom, she's eliminated, and then --"
The way he's rapidly speaking tells her there's something more than just that. "This isn't just about Ramiele," she states matter-of-factly. She knows that tone he's using. "There's something else beneath all that, Mike. I want to know what that is."
He struggles to speak, starting, stuttering, and then stopping, before he calms down and tells her, "It --sort of, well, you know-- it --it builds up on Ramiele's elimination." She doesn't understand it, but there is an ominous chill that runs down her spine as her husband continues, "Dave's been taking it pretty hard."
Stacey nods her head; she had seen the way the male Cook had reacted, had seen the way his mood had been dampened by Seacrest's announcement. "Is he all right?" she asks, concerned, but not only for David's welfare. She knows first-hand just how caring a person Michael is, often putting others' needs before his own --perhaps too often. She knows how much of a friend her husband considers David to be, and while she loves him so much for it, loves him so much because he cares, she doesn't want him to be so overly focused on someone else. She wants him to focus on himself, too. "I mean, it isn't anything drastic, is it?"
"No," Michael responds, "but he's --he's taking it the worst out of all of us."
She tells him the only answer she knows. "It --Michael. Honey, it isn't easy having to say goodbye to someone close. Just --you know, just give David a few days to sort things out, all right?"
Michael laughs again. "Stace, how is it that you always know the right thing to say?"
Stacey smiles, spinning in her chair once more. "Aw. How very sweet of you, Michael Johns."
The thought of running into Jason's phone time only slightly crosses his mind before he tucks it away and savors the fact that he's greatly enjoying his conversation with Stacey. Long before they were married, long before they were even together, they had been friends --best friends-- first and foremost. They've had talks like this --talks where he's said everything mostly everything, and she's listened and given him amazing advice, and years later, the talks are still comforting. He has time to profusely apologize to Jason for taking up the time he could have had to call his girlfriend, but right now, Michael's enjoying himself.
Until, of course, Stacey gets to, "Hey, Mikey?"
His first response is, "Hm?"
"What were you doing the other day?"
There is a pang in his heart as he lies through his teeth, "Nothing much," and even though he knows what she's going to say, what she's going to ask, he questions her, "Why?"
"Mm," she lets out slowly. "I --I'm just curious, babe, don't take this the wrong way, but if you weren't, you know, doing anything the other day? Then why, well, you know, why didn't you call back?"
He flinches, knowing full well that he had been not only absorbed in all the rehearsals and song choices, but he had been so absorbed in David, and then, out of habit, he brings up his hand and nestles it in his hair sheepishly. "Stace --"
"I mean, you know," she says nervously, "I'm not usually the type to be doting and worried and all, but --"
"Don't --don't worry about it, Stace," he assures her quickly, bring his hand back down to rest it on his knee. "I understand." He takes a deep breath, exhales, and then continues, "We --we were busy choosing songs, and learning them you know, and I didn't get much rest" --not to mention, babe, you know, I was sitting in a coffee shop brooding about you and David and what I'm going to do about this whole situation-- "and I'm sorry it slipped my mind, Stace."
"You're exhausted," she states simply, and he hurries to say, "You know me so well." He can hear the laughter in her voice as she says, "Why don't you get rest, even after I've asked you to do so the last time you called?"
"I'm afraid I don't have time for that, Stace," he replies, and plows on as she interrupts him, "Mikey." "There's just, you know, so many things" --"Mikey"-- "and there's so much, and" --"Mikey"-- "and, you know, Idol Gives Back is on next week, and --"
"Mikey!" That snaps him to attention right away.
"Oh, uh --yeah, Stace?" He can feel the sweat forming on his forehead.
"Michael, I couldn't care less if the world ended next week." Her voice has gone soft, and he forces his breathing to even out. "I want you to get rest."
"I do get rest!" he protests quickly, and immediately he can imagine Stacey crossing her arms and looking pointedly at him, head tilted and eyebrows raised, an unbelieving expression on her face. "I really do!"
"When, Mike?" --and she has the 'don't you dare mess with me, Michael Johns' tone in her voice-- "Tell me when, in your ridiculous schedule, you possibly get any form of rest?"
"W --whenever I can," he tries to say as firmly as possible.
"Don't lie to me, Michael," she says right away, and right away, he is reminded that nothing gets past Stacey. "I saw you last night, Michael, and if nothing else, I'm not blind. You were dead tired."
"I wasn't calling you blind, first of all, Stace." Michael's voice has risen slightly. "I was only saying --"
"Michael," she cuts in sharply, and he cannot argue with her in that tone. "Michael. We head a deal, remember?"
Michael frowns, forgetting and remembering all in the span of one second, and then shakes his head. "Yeah, of course I remember, Stace, but --"
"There are no 'buts' about it," and there is a resoluteness in her voice. "We had a deal, Michael! You promised me you'd find time to rest! You promised me before you auditioned that if you got through --"
"-- I would get sleep no matter how crazy the schedule got," he recites, and then continues, "I know! But it's just been --hard, Stace."
"Even if it isn't at night, Mikey, you could, I dunno, lounge around or something! I mean, darling, how hard could it be, you know? At least try --"
"I do try!" Michael can hear his voice rising slightly, and he breathes in and out deeply. There are very nasty things that have come out of his mouth whenever anger overtakes him, and she doesn't deserve any of it, she's done absolutely nothing to deserve the nastiness that might come out of this, not when all she's doing is caring for his well-being. "I do try, Stace."
"Do you?" she asks, and her voice has risen, too. "If I were in front of you right now, can you look me square in the eyes and say you've been trying?"
No, his mind says just as he begs his mouth to say "Yes!" I've been too busy sleeping with David --Cook, by the way, because, you know me, Stace. Never in a million years would I go for Archuleta. "Of course!" But he supposes it is the pause in between his responses, the pause caused by his thoughts, that give him away.
"You're --you're lying to me, Michael. W --why?"
He takes a deep breath, fighting to control his voice and keep it at a normal level, "You're --you're turning my response into a big deal, Stace. You're blowing this all out of proportion."
"Out of proportion?" Her voices rises even more, and Michael holds his phone away from his ear for a second before pressing it there firmly. "Michael" --and she pauses to scoff lightly-- "Michael, the last time I checked, I was your wife. I think that alone gives me a right to be concerned about you!"
That pushes him over the edge. "Well, thank you for caring!" he shouts angrily into the phone. "But did it ever occur to you that maybe --just maybe-- I don't want your concern?"
Oh, shit. Michael bites his lip as soon as the words slip off his tongue and out of his mouth. Shit, Michael. What the hell were you thinking? "Stace, no, wait, I --I didn't --"
"No, Michael," she whispers, and his heart breaks because he can hear the tears in her voice. Michael, what the hell is wrong with you? "You did." And then she hangs up.
He brings his hand up to his forehead as he puts the phone down, shaking his head and mentally (although he is coming very close to actually) slapping himself. "Michael, you are a fucking idiot."
Carly walks into the living room and spies a very disoriented Michael exiting the phone room. She sees him fidgeting around with his wedding ring, every now and then staring up the staircase as though anxiously awaiting someone's arrival, and then going back to holding on and then letting go of his wedding ring. The Irishwoman doesn't approach him until he decides to sit down on one of the sofas, draping a long leg over the other and resting his arm on the arm of the sofa. When she takes a seat next to him, he looks up with wide, surprised eyes, before acknowledging her with a nod and bringing his head back down, a frown on his mouth.
She leans back to take a good look at the Australian, and then asks, "What's wrong, Mike?"
She watches quietly as he twists the ring on his left hand, sliding it up his finger and almost removing it before sliding it back down and holding it there. He looks up at her, his mouth in a tight line and his eyes weary. She is shocked by how tired he looks up close, the lines in his face clearly defined, the circles under his eyes so much clearer. She listens to him and ignores everything else around as he says, "I --I shouted at her." He shakes his head, looks as though he cannot believe what he has just said, before he opens his mouth and speaks again, "I mean, yeah, we've definitely fought before, but I've never yelled at her." He uncrosses his legs and brings both of his elbows to rest on his knees, cradling his head in his hands for a moment before looking up at her, and then looking down at his hands.. "I'm so stupid."
Carly leans back for a moment, before she smiles. He's still concerned for her. And then she quickly risks a glance up the stairs, and she doesn't want him to see the smile on her face immediately turn into a frown. Michael, you're not making any of this easier on yourself. She opts to say, "Let's --let's not say that right away, all right, Mike?" She runs a hand up and down the Australian's back, before letting it rest on his shoulder. "D'you want to talk about what happened?"
Michael almost shakes his head no before he appears to have thought better of it, and nods his head. He straightens his back and Carly removes her hand from his shoulder in response, placing it on her lap after deciding against resting it on his knee. "We were just talking, you know," he says, and then she struggles to keep up as he begins to talk faster, wringing his hands nervously, "and then we come to her asking me what I went the other day, you know, the day I went to the coffee shop, but I'm not going to go and tell her that, so I told her I wasn't doing much. Then, uh, you know, she gets to asking why I forgot to call her --it was so stupid of me, because God, I told her I'd make time to call her when I called her the other day, and I forgot, and I told her I was busy because it was all I could tell her, because you know I can't tell her anything else, and --"
"Whoa, whoa," Carly says, frowning in an attempt to digest all of the information that has spilled --and spilled rather quickly-- from Michael's mouth. "Slow down, kangaroo. You're not running away from anyone here, all right?"
David knows that he has to snap out of it sooner later, and he swears to everything he's ever known that he's going to pull himself out of this stupor he's fallen so carelessly into, but he doesn't have the strength for it, not yet. After all, one just doesn't stop missing one of their friends so close they're considered family right away; he doesn't know about others, but he knows that it just doesn't work that way for him. The Missourian sits against the headboard, legs stretched out before him, eyes staring blankly into Los Angeles through the open window. He can feel the breeze as the air drifts by, and lets his gaze settle resolutely on the clouds lazily drifting by. If he closes his eyes and thinks hard enough, he can still hear Ramiele's laughter, and it draws out one small laugh from him before it disappears, the sound of his laughter echoing in the empty room and ringing in his ears.
Too empty, he thinks, and suddenly, it's time. Something in him clicks, something in him switches the light bulb on, and the decision is made. He lets out a sigh before he stands and begins to walk toward the stairs. He smiles as his thoughts wander from Ramiele and begin to drift toward Michael. Michael's been patient with him, after the show, through their dinner, and this morning, and there's no proper way to thank a man who's done so much. They were the littlest things, but David loves them all the same. He begins his descent down the staircase, but he doesn't need to go down very far to hear the two accented voices in conversation downstairs.
"So she gets to asking me if I'm really getting rest," he hears Michael say, and he steps down lightly, careful not to make any noise, "and I know she's only caring for me because, you know, she's my wife" --David's heart breaks, and he has to bite his lip from gasping-- "and she's right, she does have a right to care for me and all, but then I have to be a fucking idiot and tell her she's blowing everything out of proportion, and then" --David watches as Michael flings his arms out in emphasis, narrowly missing Carly-- "everything explodes from there. Suddenly we're shouting at each other, and then I go and ask her if it had ever occurred to her that maybe I didn't need her concern." He moans as he shakes his head, and David can see that Michael is beating himself up inside; the Missourian can feel a storm brewing inside of him, a maelstrom of jealousy and anger thrown into sadness and concern, but despite the bombardment of emotions, his heart reaches out to him. "We never get into fights like this --and I've never said anything like that to her."
David takes a step closer to them, waiting by the wall as he listens to Carly say, "Wait it out, Mike." She pats him on the shoulder, and goes on, "Wait it out, then you can call her back in a few days." It is all David has to keep himself from crying out. "In a few days, she'll have cooled off --and you'll have, too."
"What if I call her back now?" Michael asks, and the urgency in his voice startles David somewhat. It is a hard blow delivered to his gut as Michael's voice rings in his ear, "--and I know she's only caring for me because, you know, she's my wife--" and as he reaches out a hand to hold on to the table, he knocks the vase slightly. The noise of the vase moving is enough to draw Michael and Carly's attention, and both expatriates stand up immediately as they see him holding on to the vase to stabilize it.
Carly's eyes are wide, Michael's even wider, the Australian watching him with a slightly opened mouth. "Dave!" he exclaims, shocked, and suddenly there is fear in his eyes. "H --how long have you --?"
The Irishwoman moves swiftly, exiting the situation with an "I think I'm going to go call Todd" and a quick apologetic look toward David, and she is gone. He and Michael are left there, staring at each other, and it is hard looking the taller man in the eye. Michael stares at him, and then stammers, "Dave, I --you know, I--"
David doesn't believe it's his voice when he hears the words "What happened?" come out of his mouth. The voice is too dead, too flat; it can't possibly be his.
He doesn't believe it's Michael's voice when he hears the words "We fought" come out of Michael's mouth, either. The voice is too lifeless, too monotone; there's no way in the world it could be his.
He brings himself to walk over to the Australian, feeling as though balls of lead are chained onto his feet, and as soon as he is standing in front of Michael, the Australian looks away, closes his eyes, and brings up a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. "Look," he begins in that accent of his, and David looks down at the floor, avoiding Michael's gaze, "I --this'll pass. Don't --don't worry too much over it."
"Oh, I'm not worried," David tells him, and the coldness in his very own voice makes him flinch. "I'm sure it'll pass."
Michael takes hold of David's chin and tilts it up so they are staring each other in the eyes. David tries to portray cold and aloof with his eyes; he knows his attempt is in vain, because he is looking into Michael's eyes, tired and emotional and raw. The connection is long and hard and there, and just the very knowledge of it raises the hairs on his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and Michael lets go of him, and David makes a sound low in his throat, aching for the warmth that Michael brings to him. "That was unnecessary."
The Australian shakes his head and hugs David, and David shivers at the contact. "Don't say that," he says into David's ear, and David is breathing in the scent of the taller man, wrapping his arms around the other man's back. "Don't you ever say that. Don't you ever be sorry for anything, all right? You've got nothing to say sorry for."
David opens his mouth, pulling away to say, Yeah. Yeah, I've got a lot of things to say sorry for. I'm sorry for not letting you get any rest. I'm sorry Stacey had to yell at you for it. I'm sorry you have to lie to Stacey, but Michael shakes his head again, and presses a kiss to David's forehead before he releases the younger man.
But most of all, I'm sorry for loving you this much. I'm not ready to let you go, I don't want to see you go, I don't want to see you with her. I'm sorry for being so selfish --but I love you, Michael.
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