A head appeared around the corner from the kitchen, just far enough to see me.

"Michael?" What was he doing? "Michael, what are you doing?" I laughed, he looked like himself again, the way he'd always been. A light almost-smile washed over his features as he strode toward the futon where I sat with my notebook. Such a strange expression, what I wouldn't have given to know what he was thinking then.

"Hey," he said, staring almost straight down at me from his magnanimous height. "I'm gonna get some tea. Would you like some?"

"What kind?" I grinned up at him, it was so - fun - looking at him again.

"Your favourite." he smiled.

"Sure." I smiled again, and stuck my tongue out at him, it was so cool that he remembered. He laughed.

As he walked away I realised that my hair was still down, I had used the pen holding up to write in my notebook. I don't know why, but it felt weird to wear my hair down when he was around. I mean, no, I don't know. It just felt, weird. I recalled a thousand times my Mom had told me not to wear it down around boys, because they liked it - but what was wrong with that now? Not willing to have it out with myself just then, I twisted it back up and stuck the pen in it, pulling another from the sock on my left foot. Unable to concentrate anymore, I just started twirling it with my fingers.
It must have started raining again. A soft patter trickled through the windowpanes behind me as I sat waiting. The bright tinkle of stainless utensils and quiet stream of boiling water eventually wafted through the hazy silence and, before I knew it, Michael was in front of me with an oversized mug; it steamed, lazily carrying the comforting, natural, scent of it's contents to my tiring senses.

"Thanks," I said as he set it on a coaster before me.

"Can I sit here?" Was his only reply. God, he still does that? Why? He knows he can, it's just me. Oh well.

"Sure." I lifted the mug and inhaled the reminiscent aroma of green, green tea - oversteeped, just how I like it. Again, I loved him, maybe even more than the time before; but again, with the surge of appreciation for his existence came the guilt of lying to him about mine.
A soft sigh escaped him as he settled on the loveseat across from me, his eyes closed. Michael's mood had changed, he looked tired now, disappointed. Hard guilt swept over me, catching in my throat as I struggled for something to say.

"Congratulations, Michael." I forced a smile for him.

"Thanks." He returned it with a genuine one. "But it really wasn't a big deal, you know."

"Of course it was." I scolded him. What was wrong with him? It was definitely a big deal. "College is somthing you waited forever for, and worked hard at; and to graduate with so many honours... Michael — it's great. You should be proud." More, just a little more. "...I know I am."

And then, he did something I hadn't seen him do in a very long time:

Michael Bridge blushed.

His cheeks actually turned red, and the maelstrom of curls on his head waved as he turned away from me.

"Sorry." I lied. I wasn't really.

"It's all right," he recovered.

"So, what did you do afterward?" I smiled again, speaking faster, unable to conceal the excitement that the previous moment had bred in me. I resettled myself for a long story, crossing my legs and taking a satiating sip of my tea before crossing my arms atop them. "I wish I could have been there, Michael —"

"I know you do..." he interrupted, a little harshly. I couldn't blame him, but did he know? Those words cut me, but I didn't want him to know. This conversation was supposed to be good; as much as I wanted him to know, I was too afraid to lose him yet. Like a coward I hid behind my smile again.

"You'll just have to tell me."

"Okay." He took a drink. The mug didn't look so huge in his hands. And then I laughed, because he apparently imitated what I had done moments ago. Awkwardly crossing his legs beneath him and setting his arms atop them. "Hey, I'm just following suit." he smirked.

"I'm sorry," Neither of the Bridge elders had problems sleeping, but surely this was an unusual sound in their home at such a time. "I should stop laughing, I'm going to wake someone."

"It's okay. My parents are probably just watching the news up there or something." He shrugged. "And besides, it would be my fault anyway for making you laugh."

"Okay." I surrendered, collecting myself as I sipped my tea again. Using both hands to hold the mammoth mug. "Anyway, what did you do? I know we alwayssaid we were going to go somewhere. And I was actually set to take you to Europe..." The truth again. Disappointment...

"Are you serious?" his eyes opened wide.

"Yep." I nodded, unable to look at him as I prepared to skirt around a different truth. "I would only have had to buy the tickets, well, and find someone else who wanted to come too. But then— well, you know." He nodded solemnly, maybe he didn't know.

"Well, Miss Marie, " he smirked, I hate it when he calls me that. "you should sleep. You've probably had a long day— and I don't like that cough."

"Me?" I feigned innocence and coughed melodramatically. "Sleep? Why, Michael, you should know how that goes." I stared at up at him for a minute. He shook his head at me, but he still smiled. "But you go on then, I'm sure you have plenty to do on the morrow, and you need more rest than I." I waved him off.

"Are you going to?" he almost commanded.

"Maybe..." I stared into space and pretended to rub the beard I don't have. He just glared at me. "All right, all right, fine. You go up, I'm going to finish this thought" I pointed to my notebook, nestled between the cushion and arm of the couch. "and then I'll go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay." he said helplessly, and shortly disappeared up the stairs.