Oscar snorts. “Keep telling yourself that, Mikey. See how good it gets you. Damn fool kids.” Like they aren’t only a few years apart in age. Then it goes muffled and Mike hears Oscar shout for Sean, voice hoarse but strong. There’s some hollering back at him and Mike knows the people in the diner are laughing and hooting at Sean. It’s how it always goes when Mike calls. It’s even worse when he’s there. It’s almost like they want this… this thing between him and Sean almost as much as Mike does.
The phone changes hands and Mike hears Sean tell Oscar he’s got it, to get out and give him some privacy. Oscar retorts that it’s his kitchen, but anyone could hear the fondness in his voice. It’s well known, the soft spot Oscar Johnson has for Sean Mellgard.
“Hello?” Sean says into the phone, like he doesn’t know who it is, like it’s a question, and Mike doesn’t even try and stop the warm feeling burning in his chest.
“Hey,” he says, scuffing the toe of his Chucks against the carpet. He feels oddly shy in these little moments, like he’s unsure about what to say.
But Sean’s voice is sweet when he says, “Hey there. We mi
ssed you this morning.”
Mike clears his throat and says, “We?”
Sean laughs softly, and it’s a sound Mike never gets tired of hearing. “I,” he says. “Me. I missed you this morning.”
“Yeah,” Mike says. “Me too.” Because he did, and there’s this strange and sudden urge that fills him to flip the sign from Open to Closed and to make his way across the street and just sit at the lunch counter, watching Sean as he moves between all the tables. But he doesn’t, because he was late this morning, and that’s going to be his punishment.
Sean hums his agreement, because he knows Mike gets awkward when feelings are brought up. “You okay?”
And it should irk him, grate a little bit that he can’t even take the morning off without everyone assuming something’s wrong. But it’s Sean, and he could never be mad at him. Not for this. “Yeah,” he says.
“Yeah,” Sean teases him.
“Sorry,” Mike says, running a hand over his face. He really needs to trim his beard. “Just been a weird morning.”
“How’s that?”
“Don’t rightly know,” Mike says. “Just one of those days.”
“You can have those,” Sean says.
“Can I?”
“Cheeky,” Sean says, and Mike can hear the smile in his voice. It’s not the devilish smile he has for most others. It’s not the soft one he gets when he sees a dog. It’s not even the one he gets when he’s excited about something, hands flailing as he works himself up. No, this smile is the one solely reserved for Mike Frazier. It’s soft and quiet and filled with wonder, and whenever Mike sees it, whenever it’s directed toward him, his mouth dries up and his tongue feels thick. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Like now.
He swallows. “I aim to please,” he manages to say.
Sean laughs again. “Walk me home tonight, big guy?”
“Yessir,” Mike says. “I’ll be there.”
“Looking forward to it,” Sean says, and Mike believes him. He believes everything Sean tells him, because he’s Sean. Maybe the others are right. Maybe it’s time to see about something… more.
“Gotta get back,” Sean says. “Oscar’s starting to get that scowl on his face.”
That scowl means he’s had to serve a few tables and is getting annoyed. Oscar likes the kitchen. Oscar doesn’t like to be in the dining room.
“See you tonight,” Mike says.
“Yeah,” Sean says again, and it’s mocking but not mean. Sean Mellgard doesn’t have a mean bone in his entire body, even if he has to deal with someone like Mike. Mike’s a man of few words. Sean knows this, and he still wants this… this thing. Mike doesn’t know what’s wrong with Sean that he could still want Mike, but it doesn’t really matter. He’ll take whatever he can get.
Mike is smiling when he hears the click and the dial tone. He puts the phone back on its cradle and thinks that Sean is ready too.
There’s an itch on his right wrist. He looks down and there’s something fleeting that shoots through his mind, something he doesn’t quite understand—a number—but it’s gone before he can latch on to it. He scratches at the itch. There’s no bug bite or anything to explain the irritation. His wrist is unblemished and unmarked as always.
III