A Rose by Any Other Name

Chapter 12

I gargled mouthwash and brushed my teeth almost too vigorously, making myself forget about the blood I had only just coughed up. I convinced myself it wasn't a big deal.

I went back to the living room, ignoring Mike's searching stare and half-falling onto the couch.

"Derrick," Mike said in a pained voice, he touched my face, trailing his fingers down the side of my cheek, "You look sick. Did you throw up in there or something?"

I jerked my head away, "I'm fine." I snapped. I sat up, putting my face into my hands and pressing my fingers into and through my hair. Fuck, why had I just yelled at Mike? I opened my mouth to apologize, looking at him. I saw his face turn from that of surprise to resignation. My chest panged for a moment and I felt guilty. I closed my mouth.

He got up then, going back to the kitchen, footfalls soft against the floor. I followed him in there seeing him pour water into the kettle and turn it on. His movemnts were somehow harsh even though he moved fluidly, the sounds sharp as he took out more ingredients and a tub of iceacream from the freezer.

I tried to break the ice, "You're making something again?"

He looked at me briefly before responding, "I started baking when I got stressed after my therapist recommended it to me."

"You have a therapist?"

His brows knitted together for a moment and he pursed his lips. I saw him calm down, the stress in his face melting away. But then he seemed sad suddenly, "I forget sometimes-" he pulled out a tin of cookies, shortbread, chocolate and sugar cookies. He broke them into a bowl and took out two glasses. He washed his hands and then turned to me walking closer, "I look at you, and you have the same face, the same laugh-but you don't remember. And somehow I keep forgetting that you don't really know anything about me."

His voice wasn't biting or cruel, but I found myself unexpectedly hurt. I lowered my lashes, looking at Mike's veiny hands; clenched by his sides. He stood in front of me but I didn't know how to bridge the gap between us that was more than physical.

"Maybe, this isn't going to w-" I started, twisting my hands together.

Mike interrupted me, going back into the kitchen, "I'm making Affogato trifles. I think they'll go well with the cake." He checked on the oven again, turning it off. He took out a cooling rack from a cabinet, put on oven mitts and took out the cakes, now an earthen brown.

Mike sighed heavily, looking at me again, "Do I have any clothes here?"

"Well," I said, walking to my bedroom and opening my closet, "Some of this stuff definitely doesn't look like mine," I started filing through things pushing things that were too big to the side. I felt Mike's arms wrap around me from behind, his head leaning against my shoulder. I stilled.

"Don't yell at me." Mike murmured into my ear. His body against mine, suddenly felt very intimate. The last time we'd been that close was when we slept together at his parents' house. I wondered if sleeping together was even the right term when nothing had happened.

I slumped slightly hearing that, still not sure how to apologize, "Okay." I mumbled.

"Only okay?" Mike said, all his warmth seeping into me. He stopped holding me, moving back and lying on my bed.

He sighed again, and I pulled out some shirts, pullovers and joggers. As I approached he looked up at me.

"I'm sorry." I managed to get out, staring at Mike's feet.