projectroxas | (no subject)

At first it started out as seemingly nothing. Anthony wasn't particularly surprised that Michael wasn't the type to grab for him or flirt with him in public, if at all. If you saw them in a crowd full of people, they wouldn't have looked like a couple, just two guys spending some quality time with one another.

Just... them being them. Only together.

Anthony was quite aware that Michael would probably never change. He was okay with this, though, was happy with the familiar instead of the unknown. To be honest, despite the feeling of elation he always had around Tony, they both rubbed against another the wrong way on more times than Anthony could count. Not that he kept count, nor did he dwell on it for too long. It was just a fact, something that was unfortunately written in the stars before they had even met. That wasn't to say that Anthony would have given up on the idea if Tony had been willing to give it a try, but...

But it didn't happen, the twenty-four year-old thought to himself in private, staring blankly at the TV as these thoughts (his inner monologue) ran through his mind.

Really, he had inherited a really crappy gene from his dad. Crappy in the sense that it was something he had never wanted to inherit, but he took it in stride, much like he did with everything else that happened in his life.

That's exactly how he had taken his (previous) captain's confession. In stride, that is. If you could call it a confession, anyway.

"I have an attraction towards you."

Same words he had said before. This was nothing new in the two and a half years he had known Michael, except for the fact that they hadn't become "friends" nor had he heard these words until that stupid outing that lead to Anthony being drunk. Tipsy. Whatever you'd like to call it. He had still become intoxicated that night, leading to all sorts of embarrassing things he'd remember first thing in the morning.

But something had changed at that moment with Michael. Anthony half-noticed, half-didn't-- a typical feeling he'd let settle in the back of his mind after it came into fruition, simply shrugging it off and deeming it unnecessary to get into.

And then that happened. That semi-awkward talk that would eventually lead to better things, but...

"I had become irritated," Michael said, expression changing to something more thoughtful yet fascinated at the same time. "I was unsure as to why. A constant feeling of irritation is typically a reaction to matters that do not revolve around a person, let alone a specific event that has no significant meaning to my life as a whole. Perhaps it was something akin to jealousy? Although not quite. Even if I had never felt jealousy before, I understand it as a concept--"

He was talking about that night. That night, when he had babysat Anthony for what seemed like hours, only to be surprised that someone else had been waiting for the intoxicated boy at home. A child, yet he was different than most children and Michael had been taken by him for numerous reasons, but Anthony's persistence on having his captain stay versus his extreme affection for the child made Michael feel a little off-kilter, a little... strange.

Oh wait. He's still talking, isn't he.

"--this is why I have come to you."

Anthony blinked. Right, he must have zoned out somewhere in the middle of Michael's speech. A fist lifted to scrub at an eye, looking at him a little sleepily as he said: "What?"

The good thing about Michael was that he never seriously got angry with Anthony. Sure, he had screamed in his face in the locker room once and chucked plenty of soccer balls at him, but he never really got angry at him. Not like how Tony used to--

Okay, no thinking about him. Back to Sparta.

Michael sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "How much of that information did you retain?"

Anthony stopped in mid-shrug and instead thought about it seriously, eyes rolling up to the ceiling in thought. His kneejerk reaction was to say something that could probably get his ass into a lot of trouble (and by trouble he meant "brief look of irritation" and then "repeat performance") but something in the back of his mind stopped him. Told him to think about it, that this was more important than his bird-brain would make it out to be.

So he thought. And thought some more.

"Up to 'understand as a concept'. I think."

The blond nodded. "I suppose that will suffice." Stands up a bit straighter, then says: "This is why I have come to you."

"Okay," Anthony said simply, plainly. Stares dumbly at him, as if he was going to say something else. When he got nothing but a stare back: "Huston, we have a problem."

"I am attracted to you."

"... Huston, we have a really big problem--"

"--as in having affection for you." Pauses. "This time in the romantic sense."

There's a big blank space between a certain fragment of time for Anthony at this particular scene, as his brain had shut down at this point and went into Safe Mode. Maybe he had even fainted, something pathetic that was just so him and wouldn't come to a surprise to those who knew him well enough. Either way they ended up sitting on a bench somehow (in some way, 'cause really, Anthony couldn't remember anything between the "confession" and bench-sitting) with Michael next to him, the other boy's hands steadying him from falling off onto the ground.

After that there was a lot of awkward silences. Awkward blushes. Awkward everything, but only on Anthony's part, as Michael was ever-patient (and non-judgmental, no matter how much his words jabbed when he ripped the bandaid off of any of Anthony's fresh wounds) and simply sat there staring at him.

That really wasn't helping matters.

It's not important what happened after that. Not really, anyway, because Anthony tucked his head down in an embarrassed fashion to think. If it were anyone else, they'd probably be offended that he'd actually have to think about this. But no, Michael waited. Allowed Anthony to have his thinking time.

And so he thought.

(His break-up-but-not with Tony had not been good. They hadn't even really been together, let alone having anything sturdy to break in the first place. After he came back from France it was apparent that there was nothing there. On Tony's part, that is. Sure, he had admitted to being physically attracted to him, but the emotional sentiments were not returned.

And they talked about this. Tony wanted to make him understand that it wasn't really Anthony's fault, that he was just not a hundred percent sure. Knew that it would cause more damage if he jumped into something with him, ended up not reciprocating Anthony's feelings after some time, and eventually breaking it off.

I care about you too much, the words he said as his shoulders sagged and expression dropped, both hurt (on behalf of Anthony) and apologetic (torn, upset with himself, unable to give his friend what he wanted) at his own words.

Part of Anthony wanted to feel sorry for himself. Wanted to be depressed over it, to be like those girls who cried and ate ice cream and eventually got over it with lots of food therapy, but...

Alyssa.

Just her name made him wince slightly, feel guilty, and have a wave of shame overcome him. All things considered, he was lucky that he'd get off with just some depression and woes and then allow the wound to heal slowly. Unlike her, who had been literally dying a slow death and had kept quiet about the amount of pain she was in. It made him hate himself a little.

So he made a promise that he'd get over it quickly. Thought it was fine to boo-hoo a little, but that would be that.

Just as long as they stayed friends, of course. That's all Anthony asked for, just wanted to be near Tony, if at all possible. Hearing these thoughts made Tony smile brightly, saying he'd like that (please don't hate me) and he'll do his best (at what, Anthony will never know, but the hug he recieved was more than enough for him).

And that was that with Tony. He flew back to France for a while to sort out some things, giving Anthony the chance to wallow in self-pity. Really, what was he expecting, anyway? Happily Ever After?

No. It wouldn't have worked out anyway.)

That memory prompted the most important thoughts of all: Would he be deceiving Michael if he said it was okay? Would he just be a fill-in for Tony, the one person he had always wanted and could never get? Would he ever truly like him the way Michael apparently did? Would he be using him to get over Tony?

Gray eyes met the lavender ones that continued to watch him, as if Michael was trying to figure out Anthony's thoughts by himself. As much as Anthony tried to convince himself that a rejection was the best idea, he couldn't help but realize at that moment how much Michael actually cared about him. Sure, he was a robot in disguise and had some real issues with expressing his affection with more than just words, but he was sincere in every way possible. He could probably even tell what Anthony was thinking.

No, he had figured it all out long ago, way before he had expressed his feelings for Anthony. Michael seemed to do things on a whim at times (he bought a laptop) but in reality he was calculating. Sharp. Perceptive. Understood the pros and cons. Dotted all of his 'i's, crossed all of his 't's. Looked before he jumped.

He already knew. He was already certain that Anthony did not like him that way (at least not fully) but it could eventually come to that. He knew that he'd have to let time work it out, that maybe it wouldn't be forever, but just a small amount of time would be okay too. He knew the hesitance, knew Anthony wouldn't reply right away--

It was almost as if he had known Anthony for all his life by just observation alone.

That in itself made Anthony duck his head again again when he realized all of this, his ears tinted cherry red in embarrassment. It took him a few moments to work through that, looking up when he was ready. "Okay," he said, lips lifting into an uncertain smile before his expression went back to baseline as he continued: "But you're buying the bread."

And that was all there was to it, really. Just a (not-so-normal) confession from one guy to another. All-in-all it had a Good End, which made Anthony quite content (and a little proud for reasons unknown) and eventually thought that the world didn't suck so much anymore. Sure, it could've been because he now lived in a relatively nice apartment with a relatively nice boyfriend who both had relatively nice jobs, plus his favorite little brother who had come overseas to study abroad after being accepted into a relatively nice high school that was relatively close to their relatively nice apartment.

Yeah, life was actually pretty good. Really good, when his worst fear of being alone for the rest of his life was eliminated four years ago. He had his own personal robot and pikachu under one roof. How cool was that?

Anthony's lips twitched into a smile at those thoughts, reaching over to grab the remote and turn off the TV. Lifting himself up, the young man made his way into the kitchen to rinse out his mug (of juice, since coffee was more of Michael's thing) and place it into the dishwasher. He raised his arms above his head, interlacing his fingers as he stretched and made a pleased noise when the tension in his shoulders finally loosened. A quick glance to the clock told him that Hiro would probably be home soon from his half-day at school, making him turn to begin digging up something to make for lunch.

After the ingredients for his famous peanut butter and jelly sandwich (which wasn't really all that famous, but Hiro liked it, so it was famous in their household) was all set out on the counter, he made his way on over to the desk seated to the right of the living room, shaking his laptop out of its sleepy state to check if he had any work-related e-mails.

He doesn't like to admit it, but for the longest time he had trouble finding a job. Either he wasn't qualified for it or his personality had gotten him fired over the span of a few hours on the clock, which always lead to him coming home with his hair droopy and expression akin to that of a kicked puppy. Michael would try to come up with solutions (never scolded or reprimanded him, but always asked "what now?" when Anthony waddled in with a defeated look on his face) and most of them would flop.

"If you are worried about rent, worry not," Michael said one morning over the paper as the three of them sat eating at the dining room table. "You may pay your share later."

This both irked Anthony (for one reason only, and that would be just plain childishness on his part) and made him appreciate Michael all the more. That is, the guy never pampered him. He didn't treat him as if he were delicate goods, nor did he spoil him. In fact, he always had them on the same level no matter what, giving Anthony as much freedom to do as he pleased. Or rather, the freedom was not personally given, like a permission of sorts, but it was simply there as Anthony's god-given right. And he liked that Michael wasn't controlling, even if a long time ago he wondered if Michael even considered them to be in a relationship. Or even really liked him as much as he said he did.

Sure, there were times when Michael would do things like take his hand when they were out somewhere, but it was so automatic (even the first time he did it) that there was no "awkward firsts" with them. Well, it was a little awkward and embarrassing on Anthony's part, but Michael didn't even flinch or seem to think much of it. But all-in-all, they didn't do things most couples did. At least from Anthony's perspective, who had plenty of "experience" from Alyssa and, even if he had not officially dated him, Tony.

Naturally there was some confusion (were they even dating?) and slight irritation (he might've been spoiled just a little bit with Tony and Alyssa), but after he had started to like him, there was some insecurity there, too. You know, just like how girls feel when their boyfriends won't touch them or kiss them or do anything past really small things.

Unfortunately it took a rather crappy situation to have Anthony truly understand how much Michael cared. It happened at their second-to-last soccer match, the score tilting between them winning or losing by just a handful of points. As usual they were on top, but it was inevitable that some kind of disaster would happen, considering the opposing team's players having a poor attitude and rotten disposition. To be completely honest, Anthony doesn't remember much about that either. All he could remember was blinding pain and the world going kind of dark for a few seconds, someone saying something about blood, and his right leg and head feeling as if they were caught on fire.

They said the concussion wasn't too bad and there was nothing seriously wrong, but his right leg was pretty much useless despite it only being fractured. Still, they had lost the game. Anthony knew he shouldn't blame himself, not when the "accident" was really nothing more but a spiteful act done by the other team, but...

We lost, was all he could think. Normally he wouldn't be too disappointed over this, chalking it up to simply needing more practice to get it right next time, but it was more for Michael than it was for himself. Some self-gratification was there, of course, yet their captain had lead them into a no-losing zone every single match they had went into.

And now that winning streak was gone. All because he couldn't move quick enough to avoid landing himself in the school's infirmary.

The worst part was that Michael was nowhere to be seen. Didn't pick up his phone. Didn't reply to any texts. Nothing. Nobody seemed to know where he was whenever Anthony asked someone who passed on by, leaving him simply slumping in the bed to stare down at the bandaids wrapped around his hands.

It hurt. Not the physical pain--well, okay, that hurt a lot, he had to admit--but something else that burned in the middle of his chest. It was a semi-familiar feeling, one he felt whenever he had been caught off-guard with Tony flirting with someone, or when he made Tony angry, or-- well, anything to do with Tony that resulted in something negative. Anthony knew he probably should be rejoicing (that he didn't feel that strong of emotions over Tony anymore; Michael has successfully turned him to the dark side) but instead he felt even worse over the whole ordeal. Placed his hands over his eyes at this (don't cry, don't cry), tried to even his breathing--

A knock on the door made him quickly scrub at his eyes, hope written on his face when he looked up in anticipation. Disappointment was the first thing he felt when a grinning redhead peeked into Anthony's space, presenting a bunch of red roses to the goalie.

"Hi, cutie," she said in a mocking tone, sauntering on over to place the flowers on Anthony's lap. "Heard you got your ass kicked."

Anthony quietly inspected the flowers, coming to the conclusion that it was just Rachel being Rachel before shrugging. "I'll live."

"Sounds like bullshit to me." Long legs crossed over one another after she lowered herself into the chair next to Anthony's bed, lounging casually. "Where's the boyfriend?"

Ouch. His eyes averted down to the bundle of flowers, idly nudging one of them with a few fingers. "Dunno," he murmured in reply after a while, almost as if he were a small, sulking child. "Neverland, maybe?"

"Huh." A long pause, one red nail coming up to tap at her cheek in thought. "Well I heard otherwise."

His attention was captured at that, not even bothering to hide it as he finally looked a little more alive. Calmed himself instead, expression going back to normal as he blinked once, twice. And then: "Is it Russia?"

"Locker room," she yawned, making it seem like this tale had already been told hundreds of times before. "Got in a fight."

Silence. A long moment or two later, Anthony speaks. "... I think you've got the wrong person."

"I'm not shittin' ya, kid." Yawns lazily again as she takes her time with the story, even if Anthony felt himself grow more and more anxious. "That guy who knocked you out? Yep, him." Pauses. "Well, both of them, I suppose, but it wasn't really a fist-fight. Just some yelling. Punched him in the nose."

"Who punched who in the nose?"

"Your cap-i-tan," Rachel said in a sing-song voice. "But it looks like a rooster got in there and stopped anything else from happening. Damn those fuckers, always getting in the middle of shit and ruining manly fights over women."

It took Anthony a moment to process everything (he must've been hit harder than he thought), but when he did his face broke out into a blush. Two hands gripped at the bedsheets, pulling them over his head slowly as he made a sort of blanket-tent for himself to hide himself, unable to properly say anything in reply.

Before this, he had his doubts that Michael felt anything at all, let alone "romantic feelings" for Anthony himself. The guy never cracked a smile unless he was enthralled over something (anything) soccer-related. He never looked sad, either. It was just this comfortable crevice he had been born into, one that satisfied his daily needs and personal gratification. There was no need for excessive abundance of emotions, and he didn't pretend that he had much else to give. Words were his strong point, the logic involved rendering many people speechless and unable to counter with anything more than blank looks-- except for Anthony, that is, who always had something to say back to him.

A perfect match. As ridiculous as it sounded, that's what they were.

And that's what Anthony had comfortably settled into, for once being really content with his life as a whole. There wasn't anything to be sad about. Nothing to really worry about, either, not when he had the people by his side that meant a lot to him. He wasn't sure if he had ever expressed it enough than he should have, but maybe--

The sound of the front door clicking open jerked Anthony away from his laptop, momentarily foregoing the need to reply to Oliver's e-mail about orders that were needed for the flower shop, instead getting up to greet Hiro. When the sight of blond hair came into view he froze on the spot in surprise, having not expected Michael to be home so early.

Keeps silent for a while longer, not bothering to stop staring or move. Finally he relaxed and continued to stand there, opening his mouth, closing it, then saying: "'Honey, I'm home~' ... is what you're supposed to say."

"Funny," Michael replied nonchalantly, continuing his routine of taking off his jacket and hanging it up by the door.

"Calling is nice too."

"Is it necessary?"

Anthony shrugged, giving up on his game early. "Would've been nice." Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back on the table that Michael sat his keys on. "Where's my pikachu?"

"He will be in shortly," Michael said without missing a beat despite being distracted by something on his phone. "The neighbor's children wished to speak to him."

"Huh." A simple not-reply from Anthony, watching with little interest while Michael continued to read something on his phone. It was a little stupid, but Anthony had grown to despise that devil of a Blackberry. It was like having a third wheel when all you wanted to do was spend time with one another person. Unfortunately, that third wheel was always around. There had been numerous times when Anthony would take it away from him, not looking at the messages but simply placing it elsewhere until Michael decided to pay attention to him. Or Hiro. Whichever, even if the guy could speak and type and walk and eat at the same time without so much as looking up for even a second.

Of course, Anthony was slightly exaggerating. There were only a handful of weeks out of the month that Michael always had his phone out 24/7, mostly to check up on the patients he had listed under his private sports therapy office. Sometimes it had to do with soccer (he guesses it was pretty cool that he got the coaching job at their alma mater, but felt really bad for the kids who wanted to join) and sometimes it had to do with Anne, who was finishing up her junior year of college.

But for Gundam's sake, he'd like to be able to say stupid things while being paid attention to. Be paid full attention to. Whatever.

Anthony continued to watch Michael just stand there with his eyes trained on the phone, blinking at how focused he was before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling to recall what he had been thinking about moments ago...

Right, showing appreciation. Despite Michael's (non-)faults, he has still accepted Anthony for who he was. He wasn't selective about what he liked and didn't like about Anthony. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when they had any sort of disagreement, except for those times when they went shopping and debated against which paper towels to get ("They have made it impossible to not reuse these more than once if needed." "But this one has Elmo on it. You can't go wrong with Elmo.") but other than that, neither of them were picky.

Maybe I should-- Anthony cut himself off when he couldn't think an appropriate way to continue that line of thought, shaking his head to rid himself of it. It wasn't like he didn't show affection regularly. On the contrary, he did it more than Michael did, even without being drunk. There was still some kind of nagging going on in his head after wasting away some hours of the day to think on how he had gotten to this point. With Michael, mainly, but also continuing his drive on the road to happiness, realizing that although he showed affection, it wasn't always as deep and meaningful as it could be.

With these thoughts in mind he stood up straight, forgoing speaking to instead walk forward and hug Michael around his torso. His companion blinked at the sudden added weight, finally looking down at the person attached to him as he was momentarily distracted from his phone.

"What's wrong?" he asked, even if it came out more of a statement than anything concerned. It wasn't like him to be that way, after all, but unlike his old self he actually reciprocated that hug automatically, even if it was one-armed (his other hand held his phone, and that couldn't possibly be put down).

Rubbing his nose into Michael's shoulder, Anthony didn't say anything and instead continued the hug.

While Michael was good with words, Anthony wasn't; typical conversation would prove at least that much. And although this was true, Anthony knew that Michael would take his words as if they were being said with normality, wouldn't roll his eyes at him or throw his hands in the air and give up. He knew that he was lucky, because most people just "tolerated" him on a very fundamental level, while Michael enjoyed Anthony's company because he was Anthony.

He didn't expect anything from him. Didn't ask for anything. Listened and gave his honest opinion whenever Anthony finished, putting 100% effort into each and every word.

Anthony was right: nothing had really changed between them. What had changed, however, as his perspective on Michael himself.

He didn't think he cared, when in reality he cared more than he was able to see. It was Anthony who wasn't looking close enough, didn't dig deeper because Michael never had anything to hide. He was out in the open, saying things because he felt it was necessary to say it, not saying things because it was unnecessary at the time; Anthony just didn't notice the things that were so clearly there.

Maybe this is what Anne was talking about when she said that Michael cared about her in his own way. Anthony couldn't comprehend it (believe in it) at first, but now... now he knew. Now he could see it.

Two eyes opened slowly when his thoughts came to a standstill once more, shifting his head slightly to stare at Michael's neck. Presses his forehead there briefly, allowing himself to smile something sweet and gentle as a warm feeling filled him completely. The moment was there for a long time before he finally looked up and stared at Michael.

Stares. Stares some more.

"I'll make you a sandwich," he finally said, lifting a hand to gently pat one of Michael's cheeks in closing.

Michael sighed his typical not-sigh, head tilted slightly to the side. "What are you going on about now?"

His companion shook his head, bumping his forehead affectionately against the other's before removing himself completely. "Shenanigans." A reply that he knew would be okay for them both, confident in the fact that Michael would accept the words (as usual) and follow him to the kitchen without so much as batting an eyelash.