It Was Only a Kiss; Boyf Riends

When You Love Somebody

Michael's POV

I grip the picture of my brother and me tightly, the wooden frame fitting perfectly into my hands.

"I miss you, man," I whisper, my lips barely moving.

It feels as if someone is sitting on my chest, and I struggle to keep my breathing even. I really do miss him. I wish he could come back. I didn't deserve to lose him.

Not that this was about me. It definitely isn't about me. Is that what happened? I made it about me. I never asked him how he was doing. Everything always has to be about Michael.

I just wish he could come back. Maybe just a week. A day. A minute, even. It's just—I never got to say goodbye. I never got to say goodbye.

I hear footsteps reach my doorway.

"Anak, dinner's ready," Nanay says, breaking the cold silence of my room.

"I'll be down in a little bit," I reply, setting the picture frame down.

I wipe a falling tear from my cheek, inconspicuously. Unsurprisingly, she notices. She pauses, a concerned look on her face.

"You okay, Michael?"

"I'm alright, Nanay," I mask, not wanting to worry her.

"Okay," she says, hesitantly, "be down soon."

I watch as she goes through the hall and then down the stairs, out of sight. When I'm sure she's gone, I fall back on my bed, sighing.

My brother wouldn't want me to be doing this. I know that. He would tell me to stop pretending like he could come back. He wouldn't want me to forget him, but he'd want me to move on. And I have moved on, at least a little.

But I don't want to move on. Because if I move on, won't I forget him? If I stop thinking about him every night, he'll leave me. I know he will. Because all I have left are memories, and if I forget those memories, my brother will be gone completely. And I don't know what I'd do without him.

A brother. My brother. A brother is someone you're supposed to banter with, to fight with, to confide in, to love but never say that you do. But damn, I really wish I had told him how much I loved him. I wish I could've hugged him more, maybe I could've made him feel alright again. Maybe he would've stayed, even just a little longer. He could've talked to me, could've talked to someone. And he would still be right by my side. Instead, I'm here, alone, left with fading memories and what if's.

I wipe off the tears with the back of my sleeve. With the sweatshirt that he gave me. It was like it was him, wiping off the tears.

Jesus Christ, I've got to get a hold of myself.

I stand up and walk into the hallway, stopping to wash my face in the bathroom. The water feels cool against my skin, and it puts me in a better place.

I go to open up the door, checking myself one last time in the mirror. I look alright. My hair is a bit lopsided. Whatever.

I trudge down the steps, humming lightly to myself, forcing myself to appear a little happier.

My parents are already sitting at the kitchen table. My mama smiles when she sees me, and motions for me to come sit. I allow my self to smile back a little. Even with all her faults, my mama is the best, and nothing can change that.

I find my spot at the table, a bowl of fried rice on a placemat in front of it. Fried rice may not seem like a lot for dinner, but my mom genuinely mixes every single vegetable imaginable plus some chicken. And it tastes fricking amazing too.