Page 29 of The Try Line

"Yeah, well. With Jase graduating and moving off to college soon… they’re close, you know?" She sighs. "Anyway, toss him a bottle of water, okay? He won't get up to drink if it's bad. There are pain killers in the medicine cabinet, but if it's a really bad one, he'll need his prescription meds."

She gave me a quick rundown of what Mik might need and asked me to check in, but it took a few hours and multiple calls from her nagging the shit out of me before I finally checked on him. I really thought he was just hungover and deserved to suffer, and, well, I didn't exactly want to face him after last night. I'm still embarrassed over my behavior; disgusted with my lack of control.

Looking at him now, I regret not coming in first thing this morning. He looks exhausted despite having slept all day. Even the small smile playing across his pale face looks like it takes effort.

"That's when I knew," he says weakly. The way he turns his face away from me and leans his head back against the tile gives me the impression that he didn't mean to say that out loud. If I was a good person, I'd let it go and give him space. But we've well established that I'm the worst kind of asshole.

"Knew what?" I ask, running the cool washcloth down his exposed neck and tracing the invisible barrier where his tattoos start on his chest.

Mik sighs and shakes his head lightly, wincing at the motion. Swiping the cloth down the side of his face, I turn his face back towards mine. He opens his eyes briefly, and they're full ofpain. Pain from his migraine, but maybe something more, too. His eyes close again before I can examine him too closely.

When it's clear he isn't going to say more, I step out of the shower for a moment to grab his toothbrush, guiding it to his mouth before he takes over. I let him use the washcloth to wipe his mouth, and then we're just standing there. I should help him get out and get his medicine, but I'm enjoying being this close to him too much. It's not even sexual, but it's more intimate than I've let myself be since the time the roles were reversed.

"I was so drunk," I say, chuckling at the memory.

I'd been dumped, again, and was feeling sorry for myself. Mik found me nursing a bottle of cheap whipped cream flavored vodka and wallowing in self-pity. After prying the nearly empty bottle from my clutches, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and let me cry, tears and snot soaking into his favoriteRed Hot Chili Peppersshirt. And then he rubbed my back while I hugged the toilet bowl. Once I'd purged most of the poison from my stomach, he stripped me down to my underwear and jostled me into a cool shower, soaking his own clothes in the process. He returned a few moments later with my toothbrush and a washcloth, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. He cleaned me up—just like I'm doing for him now. It's so familiar it hurts.

I lead Mik out of the shower and help him dry off, so he doesn't have to bend down. Whenever he moves his head is when it seems to hurt the most, or he gets really dizzy. I find the prescription meds in the medicine cabinet and hand them to Mik with the bottle of water I brought with me. He sits on the edge of the bed, listening when I tell him not to lie down yet, because I'll just end up getting him up again and he'll have to change positions more. I find a pair of light cotton shorts and pull them up his naked thighs, not bothering with underwear or a shirt. It's too fucking hot, anyway.

"It's cooler downstairs," I tell him, and guide him down the two sets of stairs into the cool, dark basement.

After setting him up with a pillow on the couch, I run back upstairs to strip the bed and text Janel and let her know he's alright. Or will be. I'm taking care of him.

The entire time I'm pulling the sweat-soaked sheets from the bed, and cleaning up the mess in the bathroom, I think about that night when Mik was so gentle with me. I was a sad drunk that night, but he took it all in stride. I never told him that I remembered every detail, and just let him think I'd been too drunk. For months, I'd thought I couldn't be remembering it right. Surely, my drunk, depressed self was reading into things that weren’t there.

Once everything is taken care of, I redress in a pair of shorts and a tank top. I grab a few bottles of water from the fridge, and make a tray of light snacks in case he wants to try eating once the meds kick in. I find a handful of battery-operated tea lights in the utility room and add those to the tray.

He's asleep when I sneak back down. I set the tray on the large ottoman, and scatter the tea lights so there's enough light to see. I put two in the bathroom and prop the door open in case he needs to get sick again. And then I sit on the opposite side of the couch, watching him and remembering.

"That's when I knew."

My eyes close and I think back to the night that ultimately led to breaking down all the walls between us. It was still months before we ever admitted our feelings to each other, but when I look back, it was so obvious.

"Pierce was a douche and a pillow princess that never reciprocated your affection," he'd told me. "You can do better."

"At least he was gay," I said sardonically, to which he’d snorted. I had a history of taking in closeted guys looking to experiment, which mayor may not have been related to the running straight-best-friend-falls-for-me fantasy that I rarely let myself indulge in. Whatever my reasons for attracting men like that, I always walked away feeling used in the end.

"I don't know how to be enough," I rasped, my voice rough from crying and puking. It wasn't like me to feel so sorry for myself, but Mik wasn't going to judge me for my weakness. I sagged against the wall, leaning my head against the cool tile and closing my eyes to avoid crying again.

The water, which had been refreshing against my overheated skin when I first got in, grew cold. But I still didn't get out, choosing to focus on the bite of the cold water and prickling of gooseflesh across my chest and arms instead of how pathetic I felt. Suddenly there was heat near my chest, and when I opened my eyes, he was there in front of me. In the shower. Looking fucking edible, with water cascading down his lean abs. It honestly hurt to look at him sometimes. He was just that good looking. Still is.

Then he cupped my face and forced me to look up at him. "You are enough, Jason. You're everything."

I tried humor to diffuse the tension, but it came out sounding depressed rather than simply self-deprecating. "I'm a pushover that lets assholes take advantage of me."

"You're not a pushover. You do have shitty taste in guys, though." He laughed at my wry expression and put a little space between us, clearing his throat. "You'll meet the right guy. One that's going to notice every little thing you do and want to reciprocate because they want to make you feel as good as you make them feel."

There was a look in his eyes that I couldn't decipher, and my drunk imagination threatened to make things awkward. My very erect dick was making it awkward enough. He pretended not to notice and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me close. Bear hugs were my thing, considering my significantly bulkier frame andoverall hairier body. But it was a good hug. It comforted me and distracted me enough that it didn't even register that he'd been just as hard as I was. The next morning, I remembered, and I spent days over-analyzing it before I gave it up as drunken wishful thinking.

"Do you think it would have been different if I'd come clean that night?"

Mik's groggy voice pulls me out of the memory, and my eyes focus. He's lying on his side, hugging the pillow under his head, watching me.

"How's your head?"

"Better," he answers softly, but he might be lying. He looks more comfortable, at least. "Thank you."

I nod. "I let Janel know you're okay."

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