Fan Fiction ❯ Almost An Angel ❯ Coping (Michael's POV) ( Chapter 8 )

I woke up the morning after Homecoming with a headache and memories of bad dreams. It was early for most people on a weekend, but not for me. It was 9:00 in the morning. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, the wind was blowing gently…

And I was miserable.

I'd fallen asleep as soon as I'd gotten back to the house and changed clothes, but I've always been a pretty light sleeper. I didn't hear Davis pull up to the house, but I heard him come upstairs and go into his room. I also heard him talking to someone… And the noises they made after they talked.

I wasn't sure who it was, exactly, but I knew it had to be someone at the dance, or one of the various after-parties. That narrowed it down a lot, and only one name came to mind: James Sanchez.

It had to be him. There was nobody else I could think of, and it made sense. James and Davis had continued to have a good relationship even after they split up, and I knew that Davis found James very attractive…

I was curious, but at the same time I really didn't want to know. It already hurt, just knowing he'd brought a guy home and slept with him. Knowing who the guy was would only make it worse.

From the thoughts going through my head while I laid there in my bed, you'd have thought Davis and I were going out or something. That wasn't the case, but I was jealous anyways. Not only was Davis gorgeous, he was also funny, nice, and generous. Plus, he'd been a really good friend to me up until then, so…

Maybe it was just lust, or maybe it had already evolved into love. It didn't really matter way or the other; I just wanted Davis to be happy. With that goal in mind, I decided to post myself in front of the living-room window and stand guard against the arrival of the rest of the family.

* * *

At 11:30, things hadn't changed much in the house. Davis' family was still away. Davis and… whoever he was, I wouldn't let myself label him James when I wasn't completely sure, were still upstairs in bed. They weren't sleeping anymore, a fact which squeaking bedsprings had alerted me to almost thirty minutes ago, but they hadn't left the bedroom yet.

At a little after 12:00, footsteps coming down the stairs made me look up. There, hand in hand, were Davis and, just as I hadn't wanted to admit to myself, James. Both of them had huge grins on their face and looked… Well, rumpled, for lack of a better word. They seemed kind of nervous, too, which made me feel a little better.

"Hey guys. I'd ask if you had fun last night, but I think I already know the answer to that question." I greeted them, forcing a grin of my own onto my face. I just hoped I didn't look or sound as bitter and jealous as I felt.

"Hey Michael." They replied together, apparently a little more at ease. They started to head to the kitchen, but I stopped them.

"No way, boys. I don't want the kids or parents coming home and seeing you like this. Y'all go take a shower, I'll make breakfast. Lunch. Brunch. Whatever you want to call it." I volunteered. They looked surprised, but I couldn't blame them. After all, I'd just surprised myself too.

"Thanks, Michael." Davis said, his grin getting softer, friendlier. It made me happy, even though I knew that I shouldn't be. Sure, he was smiling at me, but who'd he taken to bed with him last night? James.

By all reasoning I should have stayed miserable… But that gorgeous, adorable, makes-me-want-to-melt smile made it nothing short of impossible.

"Yeah, thanks." James added, giving me a glance-over. He got this almost hungry look on his face, and I had a pretty good idea of what he was thinking about. Unfortunately for him, I was only interested in the man standing next to him.

"No problem." I said, my smile brightening a little of its own accord. I was jealous, but I was still happy that Davis was happy. A lot of people don't understand how you can feel like that, but to me, it's only natural. Short of intentional physical and mental abuse, whatever makes Davis happy, makes me happy.

I walked over and into the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Davis and James head upstairs. I had absolutely no idea what to cook, but pancakes and sausage seemed like a logical start.

By the time my two house-mates were done with their shower, I was ready with a plate of sausage and a big stack of chocolate syrup drenched chocolate chip pancakes. And three big glasses of ice cold chocolate milk.

I know that it's wrong, but I almost found myself hoping that James hated chocolate. That would have made me feel a little better… But apparently it was just not my lucky day.

"Hey, good food!" James said as he sat down and took a bite of his pancakes. "I don't usually like chocolate much, but this is seriously great!"

"Thanks." I hated myself for it, but I blushed at the compliment. Whether he was my type or not, it still made me feel good to have a cute guy praising my cooking.

I could have sworn that Davis laughed at me when I blushed, but I wasn't really sure. I couldn't make myself look right at him and find out one way or the other.

It was a quiet meal. I didn't talk because I couldn't force the words out of my mouth. I didn't really eat; I just pushed the food around on my plate, occasionally sucking on a piece of exceptionally sweet pancake or nibbling the edge of a sausage patty.

James was quiet because he spent his time eating. He was up to seven pancakes and six helpings of sausage when I stopped counting. If nothing else, at least he appreciated good food.

And Davis… I wasn't sure. He was eating, but not as much as I was used to. He didn't talk at all, not even to compliment the food; that hurt, to tell the truth. I didn't know what his problem was, but when I finally worked up the courage to sneak a quick peak at him, I thought he looked distracted. Then again, it could have simply been my imagination.

"Hey… Thanks for the food, Michael. And it's been fun, Davis. But I need to be getting home… See y'all later?" James said, standing up once he was finally done eating. Davis and I had already stopped.

"Sure. Come on, I'll walk you out." Davis said, standing up as well. He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room; James followed right behind him. He was wearing an outfit that looked familiar, but wasn't Davis' style…

I didn't let my mind linger very long on where the clothes had come from, or who their true owner was. Instead, I concentrated on clearing off the table.

About ten minutes later, Davis came back into the kitchen. He looked… I'm not sure. Confused, maybe guilty. Definitely not as happy as he'd been when he first came downstairs.

"Michael? Can we talk?"