Post by Deleted on Feb 12, 2019 0:23:15 GMT -6
Your Favorite
This week, though, Mike asked a different question.
“Hey, Church. What’s your favorite thing to have for dinner?”
There was a little coy smile at their lips. As if they were planning something. John looked absently out the window, perhaps counting the lamps hanging overhead. Mike’s question stirred him from that and he turned his head towards them.
“I’m not sure.”
It wasn’t an earth moving question. John had preferences like anyone would. But even with a year removed, he had never thought much of it. He fumbled over such a simple response as to what he liked…
“Wh-whatever you’d like.”
“Nuh-uh. This is for something special. It doesn’t work if I pick it. C’mon, bud. I know you always eat what I cook but there’s gotta be something you like best. Heh, I kinda feel like I should know what it is without asking by now.”
They shrugged, pulling the Mustang to a stop at a red light and looking over to him, expression sheepish. They missed some of the nuances, and it was becoming glaringly obvious, at least in their mind, that while they knew what he liked, he didn’t know what his favorites were.
John’s glare returned to the view through the passenger’s side window. The driver next to them had her eyes glued to the tiny screen of her phone. He sighed slightly.
“I don’t know.”
His voice was weak, just above audible. Something had been prodding at him. And no bravado could push it aside. And the victory tasted like when ashes in his mouth when he contemplated their words. It wasn’t new, that’s for sure, but it had been picked open barely healed wounds. So he cycled through what to say in retreat.
“I’m not sure.”
“Hey.”
Giving a glance up to the light- still red- they reached over, touching the sleeve of his coat. Their brows furrowed in concern, and they swallowed over a lump in their throat. Mike wasn’t sure why, but their innocent question on dinner preferences seemed to be going somewhere else entirely.
“You okay?”
Sometimes he wouldn’t be. And many times before all of this, he wouldn’t be and that would just be reality. And in the best way he could visualize it, there was now a hand shooting through the murkiness reaching out. But even as water filled his lungs, he had enough to contemplate whether he wanted to make the effort to put his hand out, too. The question itself wasn’t some platitude, though.
“Didn’t have time to see what they said until earlier today. It’s just words.”
As if reassuring himself of their harmlessness.
“I don’t get it.”
“What the-- oh. Those fuckers.”
Mike snorted, eyes flashing. The light turned green and their foot hit the accelerator a little harder than intended, making it fortunate there was no one directly in front of them as Alundra shot forward, Mike swearing a bit before slowing down to a more street legal speed.
“Nobody says that shit anymore. The fact they did proved they didn’t have nothin’ on us. Nothin’ at all, so they had to dig to the lowest fucking denominator. There’s nothin’ to get but that they’re morons that we just fucking put in their place with our own hands.”
They could still feel the big man’s blood on their face. It had taken a good deal of resistance to not relish it further.
“I guess so.”
His tone was still muted.
“I guess we could go doing that to most. But not Elizabeth.”
It was an admission of sorts. Hard to not overhear a speaker phone conversation even when one is trying not to.
Mike groaned softly, resisting the urge to thunk their head against the steering wheel. They did, however, pull Alundra into the parking lot of a nearby Arby’s. They weren’t far from their hotel, but this discussion couldn’t wait and they had come to realize that driving while having it probably wasn’t the safest option, given how their temper was starting to manifest.
“No. I can’t punch out my fucking mother. But I can let her know how I feel about her stupid opinions by refusing to be part of her life as long as she has them. She can’t control me. She can’t fucking… drive away everyone I care for under the pretense of saying it’s for my own good. She would’ve found something. You could be absolutely flawless and she’d find something to fucking pick at. She hates men, at least when it comes to me.”
Their head does hit the steering wheel then, shoulders shaking.
“That’s why I never wanted you two to meet. You don’t deserve her fucking criticism and suspicion. Every time I think of that fucking dinner my stomach churns because you didn’t deserve to be raked over the fucking coals that way.”
There is a long period of time where the only sound was the engine idling. John looked down at his hands.
“I still like her. I hope that one day she likes me, too.”
“...jesus. John Bishop Church, you are too fucking good for this sinful earth.”
Sniffling, they looked up, a wobbly little smile on their face, and brushed her knuckles tenderly against his cheek.
“Too good for me, anyway. How the shit someone like me wound up with an angel like you I’ll never know.”
They leaned back, staring up at the big red hat with the sign below it proclaiming they had chocolate mint shakes for a limited time.
“I like chili.”
Mike had to be used to this by now. When one thing was resolved, then it was time to move on. It would mean that that John’s concerns were smoothed over for the time being. His tone tilted into a strange fondness.
“Warms the bones. It’s a kind gesture, even.”
Whatever that meant.
“But one of those wouldn’t be half bad now, either.”
He pointed at the sign.
Mike smiled. They weren’t sure exactly what he meant, but she could somehow see it. A good chili on a cold day felt like a hug from the inside, silly as that sounded.
And what the hell. It was never a bad time for a good ol’ fashioned fast food shake.
“Okay. What you want, you get. And that includes milkshakes.”
One drive thru later, and NSFW was once again headed for their nightly accommodations, this time with a large chocolatey minty ice cream concoction to share between them.