Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2012-08-27 05:05 pm
scripted_sra) wrote2012-08-27 05:05 pm
Burn Notice | Between Past and Present Tense | PG-13 | Michael/Andre (Part I of VII)
Title: Between Past and Present Tense (I/VII)
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: PG-13 (for this part)
Pairing: Michael/Andre (in this part)
Warnings: For this part: references to underage sexual conduct (implied, not explicit); brief depictions of child abuse; bullying; homophobic slurs.
Summary: "But in this career path, relationships and self-identity are not prioritized. While spies are trained to be able to ingratiate themselves with others, fooling strangers is a long way from the honesty and communication that people in relationships tend to expect. Combined with an emotionally stunted bedrock, navigating these waters can be ill-advised at best and downright dangerous at worst, often with little hope of success." And yet, despite everything, Michael Westen finds himself trying anyway.
Word Count: 4,320 (for this part)
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: See the masterpost for the full information.
I.
“Get back here!”
Michael grinned at Andre as they ran for it, Mr. Peterson’s angry, bellowing voice following them down the street.
Andre grinned back, shifting Mr. Peterson’s prized lawn gnome underneath his arm as they ran. “He’ll never catch us,” he said confidently.
“Never,” agreed Michael.
They kept running, not looking back. Eventually, they stopped hearing shouts behind them, and they ducked behind one of the houses—Mr. Carter’s. He was gone for the week, so it was a safe place to hide for now.
“What should we do with it?” Andre asked, handing it over.
“Hold it for ransom?” He laughed.
Andre laughed too. “Send him a note? ‘If you ever want to see its ugly face again, stop picking on the girls.’”
“His face would be priceless.”
“Think it’d work?”
“Maybe,” Michael said, smirking. “If it didn’t, we could always take something else.”
“His flowers?”
“Add that to the note. ‘Or your roses get it next.’” He grinned.
Andre grinned back. “Let’s stash it for now.”
“How about Mr. Carter’s shed? He never opens it.”
“Perfect.” They hid the gnome and left Mr. Carter’s yard, making sure no one was around to see them.
Andre was the first to mention it. “It’s getting close to dinner time.”
“Yeah,” Michael said. His expression said everything for him.
Andre nodded. “Yeah.”
“It’ll be worse if we’re late.”
“I know.”
They headed back home. Michael’s was first on the way, and he waved at Andre before heading inside. “Ma?”
“Michael, don’t—”
“Is that the little shit?” came his dad’s voice from the back room. Michael steeled his expression; he knew that tone. He kept his head up, meeting his father's eyes when he appeared in front of him, large and looming. “You want to explain why I just got a call from one of your teachers accusing you of stealing from him?”
“He hasn’t got any proof,” Michael said stubbornly. “Besides, it’s not like you never steal anything.”
That earned him a backhand. “Are you talking back to me?”
“It’s true!” he said, glaring as he rubbed his cheek. “Besides, Mr. Peterson’s a jackass! He picks on the girls in class and never gives them a break. If they get a question wrong he makes fun of them!”
“Give him back whatever the hell you stole.”
“No.”
“What did you—”
“I said no. I won’t. He’s a jackass and so are you.”
“You little—”
He lunged, but Michael was faster. He dodged his father’s hand and ran for the door. “Michael, it’s getting dark!” his mother called after him, voice frantic with worry, but he wasn’t going back, not right now.
He kept running for a while, eventually ending up at the park that he and Andre and Ricky and the other kids hung out at a lot. He kicked at the dirt and muttered under his breath. He hated stupid Mr. Peterson and he hated his stupid father even more.
“Michael?”
He glanced up. “Andre?”
Andre snorted. “Mr. Peterson called your dad too, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I hate him.”
“Me too.”
They sat on one of the benches, not saying anything for a few long minutes. “I’m hungry,” Andre said finally.
“Me too,” Michael said. “I think I have a couple dollars. Want to see what we could get from the convenience store?”
“Sure.”
They left the park together.
---
“Hey, kids!” called one of the guys hanging around across the street from the convenience store—Ryan, Michael knew. He was well-known for being in with the Overlords.
“Let’s just ignore him,” Michael muttered to Andre, who started slowing down.
“We should see what he wants,” Andre said, and while Michael gave him a skeptical look, they stopped and waited for Ryan to catch up to them.
“What?” he asked, chin up defiantly, meeting Ryan’s eyes.
“Whoa there, tough guy,” Ryan said, letting out a fluttery laugh. “No need to get hostile. I’m about to do you two a favor.”
Andre glanced at him, then back at Ryan. “What kind of favor?”
“There’s a package me and the guys need delivered,” he said. “You two would be perfect to do the delivering.”
“That sounds more like us doing you a favor,” Michael said flatly.
“You’d be generously compensated,” Ryan said, flashing him a grin. “And you’d be on our good side. That’s the favor.”
“Not interested,” Michael said. “Let’s go, Andre.”
Andre hesitated, once again wavering between him and Ryan. Then he shrugged. “We have to get home anyway,” he said.
Ryan raised an eyebrow as they left him. Michael noticed Andre glance back.
---
“I’m just saying, Sally Jones has a huge thing for you,” Andre told him, grinning, as they headed to the park after school.
Michael groaned. “She does not.”
“She does! She’s writing your name all over her notebooks. Jackie saw them.”
“Who says Jackie’s telling the truth?”
“Face it, Michael. Sally totally wants you.” Michael just rolled his eyes, and Andre gave him a curious look. “How come you don’t like her?”
“I do like her,” Michael said. “Sally’s cool.”
“That’s not the way I mean,” Andre said. “Half the guys in school would jump at the chance to go out with her.”
“I’m not half the guys in school, am I?”
“Yeah, you’re cooler than them all.” Andre smirked.
“Shut up.”
“So if you don’t like Sally, who do you like?”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t like anybody.”
“Liar. Everybody likes somebody.”
“Oh yeah? Then who do you like?” Andre snapped his mouth shut. Michael smirked triumphantly. “See? I’m not the only one.”
“No, you are,” Andre said defensively, after a moment. “I like…I like Jackie.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “Jackie? Why her?”
“Why not her?” challenged Andre. “She’s hot. And she punched out that guy who tried to take her lunch money.”
“That was cool,” Michael agreed. “But she’s…she’s Jackie. She’s like one of the guys.”
“But she’s not a guy,” Andre huffed. “Just because you’re weird and don’t like anybody doesn’t mean I am too.”
“Whatever,” said Michael, suddenly annoyed. “Just because I don’t like anybody doesn’t mean I’m weird.”
“Yeah, it does. I bet everyone would agree with me!”
“Who cares what people agree?” Michael scowled. “I’m not going to the park today. Have fun without me.”
He took off before Andre could say another word. He didn’t go home—like hell he would do that before he had to—so he ended up wandering the neighborhood. He hung out with Mrs. Simmons for a little bit, helping her water her garden—she always paid him for it, plus gave him homemade cookies.
It ate up some time, but it was boring as hell without Andre there to get into a water fight with.
Michael didn’t understand what the big deal was. Who cared if he didn’t like anybody? Everyone at school talked about how much they looked forward to spending time with their crushes, but Michael had never felt like that about any girls. Sure, some were his friends, but the only person he really looked forward to spending time with was Andre, and that didn’t count.
He paused on that thought. It didn’t, right?
Michael frowned to himself as he left Mrs. Simmons’. He knew there was such a thing as guys who liked other guys—his dad called them fags—but that wasn’t him, was it? How did someone even tell the difference between liking someone as a friend and liking them as more, anyway?
As distracted as he was, he actually went home early. Ma made him help her make dinner, and as he peeled potatoes, he decided maybe he’d try going out with Sally.
---
“I thought you didn’t like Sally,” said Andre, cornering him a little over a week later. “Jackie said you went out with her.”
Michael rolled his eyes and slammed his locker shut. “So maybe I changed my mind.”
“You didn’t change your mind.”
“How would you know?” Michael asked him. “Why do you care, anyway? You were the one saying it was weird that I didn’t like anyone.”
“It was weird,” Andre said stubbornly.
“Well, now I like someone, so I guess I’m not weird.”
“Except you don’t really like her!”
“You really like Jackie. I really like Sally.” He gave him a look and pushed passed him. “I’m going to be late for math.”
Andre just glared after him, which Michael tried to ignore. He tried to ignore it all through math class, actually, but it didn’t work. Why were they even fighting over this? It was stupid. He didn’t like fighting with Andre, either—it wasn’t right. They fought with other people, sure, but not each other, so why the hell was it like this?
That didn’t stop him from avoiding Andre at lunch, though, and it didn’t stop him from leaving school right after the final bell instead of waiting at the flag pole like usual.
He avoided the park again, heading for the convenience store. Today was Tuesday, which meant Rebecca would be the one at the register, not her father. She let them just hang around in the air conditioning as long as they didn’t make a mess and occasionally helped her with the shoplifters. Sometimes she even snuck them a donut or a snow cone or something.
Michael was only there ten minutes when Andre walked in. He was by himself, and they froze once they saw each other.
He unfroze first. “I have to go,” he said, heading for the door.
“Wait, Michael,” Andre said, catching up. “Wait.”
“What?” Michael asked, defensive.
Andre shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking anywhere but at Michael’s face. “I don’t really like Jackie,” he mumbled.
Michael wasn’t sure why, but it felt like something loosened in his chest. He liked it. “You don’t?”
“No. I just said I did because—because I don’t know, because I just did.” He shrugged.
Michael nodded as if that made perfect sense. “I don’t really like Sally,” he told him, and Andre smiled a little.
“Okay,” he said. “And it’s not weird if you don’t like anyone.”
“Yeah, but I think I might like someone after all,” he said before he could stop himself, wincing when he realized he couldn’t take it back.
Andre frowned. “You do? Who?”
Michael glanced around the store. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
They left, and Michael headed for the park, particularly one of the trails that no one ever used because there were way too many bugs. “Why do we need to be all the way back here?” Andre asked, swatting a mosquito.
“We just do,” he said.
“Come on, just tell me who you like. I won’t tell anyone.”
“I don’t even know if I really do,” Michael said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Who is it?” Andre demanded. “Is it Annie?”
“No.”
“Jenny? Wait, is it Jackie? Is that why you were pissed at me?”
“No, it’s not Jackie or Jenny.” Michael shook his head. “Just never mind! It doesn’t matter. I just…I don’t know, okay?”
“I’m your best friend!” Andre sounded frustrated. “Why can’t you tell me?”
Michael did something then that he probably shouldn’t have, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. He pressed Andre back against a nearby tree and kissed him.
Andre didn’t punch him. In fact, Andre kissed him back, at least until he pushed him away and muttered, “If you pushed me up against poison ivy, Michael, I’m going to kill you.” Then he pushed him up against a tree on the other side of the trail and kissed him again.
Michael decided right then that he liked kissing Andre. He’d only kissed two other people in his life—Sally, on their one date, and a girl named Annabelle who didn’t even go to their school anymore, way back in fourth grade, as a dare. Neither had felt like this.
Kissing Annabelle had been awkward; he’d barely known her, and he’d had no idea what to do with his hands. Kissing Sally had felt like kissing a sister.
Kissing Andre, on the other hand…kissing Andre felt good. He didn’t know if they were necessarily doing it right, but it sure felt right, and he let out a soft noise. When they broke apart, breathing hard, they just looked at each other for a long while, not saying a word.
Michael swallowed. He was the first to break the silence. “If liking nobody is weird, liking your best friend is probably weird too.”
“Yeah,” Andre said. “But no one else has to know, right?”
“Like what really happened to Mr. Peterson’s lawn gnome?” he asked, smirking.
“It’s just another secret,” agreed Andre, smirking back. “Another awesome secret.”
Michael grinned.
---
There were some definite advantages to secretly dating your best friend, Michael decided. No one thought it was weird that you spent so much time together, and you could be left alone in your respective rooms—with the door closed.
Andre’s mother was even out of the house right now, doing some last minute grocery shopping, and they definitely weren’t wasting the time alone doing homework.
Michael let his math book fall to the floor as Andre kissed him, returning it with equal enthusiasm. They were getting pretty good at this, he thought; making out had never seemed like all that much fun to him before he and Andre started doing it.
He gasped, taking in a deep breath when they broke apart, grinning at each other. “How long do you think we have?”
“My mom takes forever at the store,” he said. “At least another hour.”
Michael grinned. “Awesome.” He leaned in and kissed Andre again.
“This is way better than homework,” he agreed, returning the kiss.
Michael laughed. “Yeah.”
---
It was after school when they ran into Harry Rockwell and his idiot group of friends gathered around the flag pole.
“What the hell is that about?” Andre asked.
“Nothing good,” Michael said, and they went in to get a closer look.
Michael frowned when he saw Martin Addler being forcibly taped to the flag pole with duct tape, tears streaming down his face. Martin was a shy, quiet kid, who mostly kept to himself and had never done anything to anyone. “What the hell, guys?” he demanded.
“Here to join the party, Michael?” asked Harry, grinning as he looked up.
“What the fuck are you doing to him?” Andre asked.
“Teaching him a lesson,” Harry said, glaring back at Martin. “Caught this fucking faggot checking me out after gym class, in the locker room.”
Michael and Andre exchanged a look. “You’re full of shit, Harry,” Michael said, moving to help Martin down. One of Harry’s friends tried to throw a punch, but Michael had plenty of practice dodging better-thrown punches than that. He also wasn’t above kneeing him right in the crotch to send him down. “Leave him alone,” he snapped.
Andre appeared right next to him. “Unless you want to take us both on?” he asked, grinning in that way that suggested he’d welcome it, that he was itching for a good fight.
Harry’s remaining friends gave him a worried look, and even Harry himself looked frustrated. “Seriously?” he said. “You’re sticking up for this fag? Why the fuck would you do that?”
“Anyone you don’t like has to be worth getting to know,” Andre said, turning that grin on him. Michael snorted and started untaping Martin from the pole, this time without anyone trying to stop him.
“What the fuck ever,” Harry said. “This isn’t worth my time. Let’s get the fuck out of here, guys.”
They stomped off, and Michael and Andre continued freeing Martin. “You okay?” Michael asked.
“Yeah,” Martin said quietly. He looked a little relieved, but mostly resigned, like he’d gotten used to this kind of thing. “Thanks.”
He wandered away without so much as meeting their eyes.
Michael and Andre exchanged a look. “Fuck Harry,” Andre said.
“Seriously,” he said, then smirked. “What do you think, should he get caught with a knife or some drugs?”
Andre laughed. “Tough choice, but man, I like the way you think.”
---
There were some definite disadvantages to secretly dating your best friend, Michael decided. Trying not to hurt girls’ feelings when they thought you were single, all your other friends ribbing you about why you hadn’t gone out with this girl or that one, calling you chicken.
“‘I didn’t want to’ apparently isn’t a good enough answer,” Michael said, rolling his eyes as he dribbled the ball.
“Wouldn’t you just love to see the looks on their faces if we told them why we didn’t want to?”
Michael snorted. He took a shot, making the basket, and Andre grabbed the ball. “If only that would be worth it. Seeing their expressions...”
“Especially when they realized a couple of fags have gotten into more fights than the rest of them combined?” Andre grinned, taking his own shot—he also made it.
Michael grinned as he grabbed the ball. It was fun to imagine, but they both knew they could never do it. School would be unbearable. Being at home would be even more unbearable than it already was.
“Sucks that we can’t,” he said, taking another shot. That one missed.
Andre’s smirk dimmed. “Yeah.”
---
“We need a car.”
Given the desperate look in Andre’s eyes, Michael didn’t hesitate. He ran to the nearest car, Andre right behind him, and jimmied open the door. He had it hotwired in no time at all, and they were on the road before he asked, “Where are we going?”
“Stubby’s.”
Michael almost slammed on the brakes. “Stubby’s? Why the hell would you need to go there?”
“I have something I need to get to them.” He held up an envelope.
Michael narrowed his eyes. “You’re not working for them, are you?”
“It’s nothing, Michael. I just deliver a few things. This one’s late, though—the guy I was supposed to pick it up from was totally fucked up, and if I don’t get there quick, they’re going to think I just took it—”
“We’ll get there.”
Andre relaxed slightly.
They did get there, and Andre made his delivery in the nick of time. When they were back in the car and heading toward a neighborhood where they could leave it, Michael spoke up. “Why are you working for gangsters, Andre?”
“I’m not really doing that much.”
“They’re bad guys.”
“They’re not that bad.”
“You didn’t even tell me.”
“You’re not my mother, Michael,” Andre snapped.
He let it drop.
---
“I want to get out of here,” Michael said.
Andre took a sip from his bottle—now that they were older, seniors, Rebecca would sometimes slip them beer, in thanks. “Out of where?”
“Miami,” he said. “Florida.”
“Where would you go?”
“I could join the Army,” Michael said. “If I could get my dad to sign the permission slip, I wouldn’t even have to wait until my birthday.” He snorted. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I bet he wants me out of the house.”
“The Army?” Andre asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Why not?”
Andre shrugged, not saying anything. Michael frowned.
---
“He signed it,” Michael said.
“What?” Andre asked. He blinked. “Not—the permission slip? You were serious about that?”
“Of course I was serious,” Michael said, frowning. “You didn’t think I was?”
“I thought you were just talking, like we do,” Andre said. “You’re really going to join the Army?”
“What else is there?”
“There’s a hell of a lot,” Andre said, suddenly fierce. “There’s your family and your friends. There’s me.”
“What is there for me to do?” Michael countered. “I don’t want to turn into another thug.”
“Like me?”
“I didn’t say that,” he gritted out. “I just—I have to get the hell out of here. Or—”
“Or what?” he demanded. “Or you’ll end up like me? Say it! That’s what you mean, isn’t it? When the hell did you get too good for all this, Michael? Too good for me?”
“It’s different!” he insisted. “You’re working for bad guys, Andre. I won’t do it. I’m getting out.”
Andre just glared at him. “Then get the fuck out. What the hell do I care?”
Michael matched his glare before storming off. He didn’t look back.
---
Years later, Michael would look back and regret that conversation.
It was the last one they ever had.
i.
Ricky told him after he’d been out of prison for almost two weeks. “You know, Michael’s in town,” he said.
Andre eyed his brother. That hadn’t been casual, no matter how he’d tried. “For how long?”
“Indefinitely, far as I can tell,” Ricky said, shrugging. “His mom didn’t go into detail, but something happened with his job that’s keeping him here. He helped me out a while back.”
“Good of him,” he muttered, mind reeling. The last time he’d seen Michael, they’d both been seventeen, and they’d gotten into the biggest fight of their friendship—and whatever the hell else it’d been.
I have to get the hell out of here, Michael had said fiercely. Or—
Or what? he’d shot back. Or you’ll end up like me? When the hell did you get too good for all this, Michael? Too good for me?
This is different. You’re working for bad guys, Andre. I won’t do it. I’m getting out.
Then get the fuck out. What do I care?
“You should call him.”
His brother’s voice broke him out of his reverie. Startled, he glanced up. “Yeah,” he said, after a beat. “Yeah, I should. I will.”
Ricky didn’t look convinced, but that was fair. He hadn’t even convinced himself.
---
Three months in and he was still keeping his promises. He hadn’t fallen back into the game. He had a legit job, crappy as it was, a graveyard shift stocking shelves. His ex was even letting him spend time alone with his girls, who were getting to know him again.
Things were good, so he really shouldn’t have been surprised when Ricky brought it up again. “Call Michael yet?”
He glanced up from where he was helping Tina draw a star. “Not yet,” he said. “I will. Once things settle down.”
Ricky raised an eyebrow at him. “Settle down?”
“Yeah.” It’d sounded weak even to his own ears, but what else could he say? How could he tell his brother exactly why calling Michael was such a hard thing to do, why it might be a fucking awful idea? “In a little while.”
“Look, Daddy, I did it!” said Tina suddenly, pointing proudly to her slightly-lopsided star. He smiled at her.
“You sure did, sweetheart. Great job.”
He kissed her head, ignoring the look his brother shot him.
---
“You’re not gonna call him, are you?” Ricky asked again, almost seven months since he’d been out and still going strong. “Michael, I mean.”
“I will,” he said, and he almost meant it. “It’s just complicated, Ricky. You don’t understand.”
“I understand how hard you took it when he left,” he said. “I understand you were more than just friends.”
Andre snapped his head up. “What?”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” he demanded. “I followed you guys everywhere. Hell, I wanted to be you. I saw you once.”
“You never said a fucking thing.”
“I may never have been as smart as you two, but I wasn’t stupid,” Ricky said, giving him a pointed look. “I knew what would happen if our dad had found out, or Michael’s, or, hell, even the rest of the neighborhood kids.”
Andre sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Fuck. All this time, Michael and I thought we were the only ones who knew.”
Ricky snorted. “Yeah, right. If his mom didn’t know, I’ll eat my shoe.” He eyed him. “So is that really all it is?”
“No,” said Andre. “It’s part of it, but…Michael had shit figured out. He knew what would happen if he stayed. Exactly what happened to me. I didn’t want to hear it. Calling him now, after all this time, what the fuck do I say?”
“Start with hello, go from there.”
Andre rolled his eyes. “You’re a fuck of a lot of help.”
Ricky smirked. “That’s what brothers are for.”
“I feel like I’ve got something to prove,” Andre admitted after another moment. “That I’m not a total fuckup like he thinks.”
“Oh, come on, he doesn’t think that.”
“Why not? I was a fuckup for a hell of a long time.”
“You’re not now.”
“So far.”
“You planning on something else you’re not saying?”
“No, but—”
“Then you’re not now.”
Andre gave him a look. “You’re the younger brother, Ricky. You’re not supposed to be the reassuring one.”
“Too bad,” he said, standing. “Call him.”
“I will,” he said. He did mean it that time. “But not yet. When it’s been a year.”
Ricky looked skeptical, but he must’ve read the look on his face, because he only nodded slowly. “Fine,” he said, heading for the kitchen.
“Hey, Ricky?” he called.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
---
“He felt like he had to prove himself to you,” Ricky told Michael when it was just the two of them left, lingering at Andre’s grave. “That’s why he never called.”
He watched Michael’s expression churn. “He didn’t,” he said. “It would’ve been good to hear from him.”
“I told him that, but you know Andre. He had to come around to things his way.”
A ghost of a smile graced Michael’s lips. “Yeah, he did.”
“It meant a lot to him, you know,” Ricky added casually. “What the two of you had.”
Michael was a hell of a lot better at concealing his emotions than Andre, but Ricky could still see the shock. “He told you?”
“No. I knew.”
Michael swallowed and didn’t say anything for a moment. Eventually, he shook his head. “It, uh—it meant a lot to me too.”
“Duh,” said Ricky, grinning just a little. Michael smiled back.
Masterpost | Part II
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: PG-13 (for this part)
Pairing: Michael/Andre (in this part)
Warnings: For this part: references to underage sexual conduct (implied, not explicit); brief depictions of child abuse; bullying; homophobic slurs.
Summary: "But in this career path, relationships and self-identity are not prioritized. While spies are trained to be able to ingratiate themselves with others, fooling strangers is a long way from the honesty and communication that people in relationships tend to expect. Combined with an emotionally stunted bedrock, navigating these waters can be ill-advised at best and downright dangerous at worst, often with little hope of success." And yet, despite everything, Michael Westen finds himself trying anyway.
Word Count: 4,320 (for this part)
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: See the masterpost for the full information.
“Get back here!”
Michael grinned at Andre as they ran for it, Mr. Peterson’s angry, bellowing voice following them down the street.
Andre grinned back, shifting Mr. Peterson’s prized lawn gnome underneath his arm as they ran. “He’ll never catch us,” he said confidently.
“Never,” agreed Michael.
They kept running, not looking back. Eventually, they stopped hearing shouts behind them, and they ducked behind one of the houses—Mr. Carter’s. He was gone for the week, so it was a safe place to hide for now.
“What should we do with it?” Andre asked, handing it over.
“Hold it for ransom?” He laughed.
Andre laughed too. “Send him a note? ‘If you ever want to see its ugly face again, stop picking on the girls.’”
“His face would be priceless.”
“Think it’d work?”
“Maybe,” Michael said, smirking. “If it didn’t, we could always take something else.”
“His flowers?”
“Add that to the note. ‘Or your roses get it next.’” He grinned.
Andre grinned back. “Let’s stash it for now.”
“How about Mr. Carter’s shed? He never opens it.”
“Perfect.” They hid the gnome and left Mr. Carter’s yard, making sure no one was around to see them.
Andre was the first to mention it. “It’s getting close to dinner time.”
“Yeah,” Michael said. His expression said everything for him.
Andre nodded. “Yeah.”
“It’ll be worse if we’re late.”
“I know.”
They headed back home. Michael’s was first on the way, and he waved at Andre before heading inside. “Ma?”
“Michael, don’t—”
“Is that the little shit?” came his dad’s voice from the back room. Michael steeled his expression; he knew that tone. He kept his head up, meeting his father's eyes when he appeared in front of him, large and looming. “You want to explain why I just got a call from one of your teachers accusing you of stealing from him?”
“He hasn’t got any proof,” Michael said stubbornly. “Besides, it’s not like you never steal anything.”
That earned him a backhand. “Are you talking back to me?”
“It’s true!” he said, glaring as he rubbed his cheek. “Besides, Mr. Peterson’s a jackass! He picks on the girls in class and never gives them a break. If they get a question wrong he makes fun of them!”
“Give him back whatever the hell you stole.”
“No.”
“What did you—”
“I said no. I won’t. He’s a jackass and so are you.”
“You little—”
He lunged, but Michael was faster. He dodged his father’s hand and ran for the door. “Michael, it’s getting dark!” his mother called after him, voice frantic with worry, but he wasn’t going back, not right now.
He kept running for a while, eventually ending up at the park that he and Andre and Ricky and the other kids hung out at a lot. He kicked at the dirt and muttered under his breath. He hated stupid Mr. Peterson and he hated his stupid father even more.
“Michael?”
He glanced up. “Andre?”
Andre snorted. “Mr. Peterson called your dad too, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I hate him.”
“Me too.”
They sat on one of the benches, not saying anything for a few long minutes. “I’m hungry,” Andre said finally.
“Me too,” Michael said. “I think I have a couple dollars. Want to see what we could get from the convenience store?”
“Sure.”
They left the park together.
“Hey, kids!” called one of the guys hanging around across the street from the convenience store—Ryan, Michael knew. He was well-known for being in with the Overlords.
“Let’s just ignore him,” Michael muttered to Andre, who started slowing down.
“We should see what he wants,” Andre said, and while Michael gave him a skeptical look, they stopped and waited for Ryan to catch up to them.
“What?” he asked, chin up defiantly, meeting Ryan’s eyes.
“Whoa there, tough guy,” Ryan said, letting out a fluttery laugh. “No need to get hostile. I’m about to do you two a favor.”
Andre glanced at him, then back at Ryan. “What kind of favor?”
“There’s a package me and the guys need delivered,” he said. “You two would be perfect to do the delivering.”
“That sounds more like us doing you a favor,” Michael said flatly.
“You’d be generously compensated,” Ryan said, flashing him a grin. “And you’d be on our good side. That’s the favor.”
“Not interested,” Michael said. “Let’s go, Andre.”
Andre hesitated, once again wavering between him and Ryan. Then he shrugged. “We have to get home anyway,” he said.
Ryan raised an eyebrow as they left him. Michael noticed Andre glance back.
“I’m just saying, Sally Jones has a huge thing for you,” Andre told him, grinning, as they headed to the park after school.
Michael groaned. “She does not.”
“She does! She’s writing your name all over her notebooks. Jackie saw them.”
“Who says Jackie’s telling the truth?”
“Face it, Michael. Sally totally wants you.” Michael just rolled his eyes, and Andre gave him a curious look. “How come you don’t like her?”
“I do like her,” Michael said. “Sally’s cool.”
“That’s not the way I mean,” Andre said. “Half the guys in school would jump at the chance to go out with her.”
“I’m not half the guys in school, am I?”
“Yeah, you’re cooler than them all.” Andre smirked.
“Shut up.”
“So if you don’t like Sally, who do you like?”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t like anybody.”
“Liar. Everybody likes somebody.”
“Oh yeah? Then who do you like?” Andre snapped his mouth shut. Michael smirked triumphantly. “See? I’m not the only one.”
“No, you are,” Andre said defensively, after a moment. “I like…I like Jackie.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “Jackie? Why her?”
“Why not her?” challenged Andre. “She’s hot. And she punched out that guy who tried to take her lunch money.”
“That was cool,” Michael agreed. “But she’s…she’s Jackie. She’s like one of the guys.”
“But she’s not a guy,” Andre huffed. “Just because you’re weird and don’t like anybody doesn’t mean I am too.”
“Whatever,” said Michael, suddenly annoyed. “Just because I don’t like anybody doesn’t mean I’m weird.”
“Yeah, it does. I bet everyone would agree with me!”
“Who cares what people agree?” Michael scowled. “I’m not going to the park today. Have fun without me.”
He took off before Andre could say another word. He didn’t go home—like hell he would do that before he had to—so he ended up wandering the neighborhood. He hung out with Mrs. Simmons for a little bit, helping her water her garden—she always paid him for it, plus gave him homemade cookies.
It ate up some time, but it was boring as hell without Andre there to get into a water fight with.
Michael didn’t understand what the big deal was. Who cared if he didn’t like anybody? Everyone at school talked about how much they looked forward to spending time with their crushes, but Michael had never felt like that about any girls. Sure, some were his friends, but the only person he really looked forward to spending time with was Andre, and that didn’t count.
He paused on that thought. It didn’t, right?
Michael frowned to himself as he left Mrs. Simmons’. He knew there was such a thing as guys who liked other guys—his dad called them fags—but that wasn’t him, was it? How did someone even tell the difference between liking someone as a friend and liking them as more, anyway?
As distracted as he was, he actually went home early. Ma made him help her make dinner, and as he peeled potatoes, he decided maybe he’d try going out with Sally.
“I thought you didn’t like Sally,” said Andre, cornering him a little over a week later. “Jackie said you went out with her.”
Michael rolled his eyes and slammed his locker shut. “So maybe I changed my mind.”
“You didn’t change your mind.”
“How would you know?” Michael asked him. “Why do you care, anyway? You were the one saying it was weird that I didn’t like anyone.”
“It was weird,” Andre said stubbornly.
“Well, now I like someone, so I guess I’m not weird.”
“Except you don’t really like her!”
“You really like Jackie. I really like Sally.” He gave him a look and pushed passed him. “I’m going to be late for math.”
Andre just glared after him, which Michael tried to ignore. He tried to ignore it all through math class, actually, but it didn’t work. Why were they even fighting over this? It was stupid. He didn’t like fighting with Andre, either—it wasn’t right. They fought with other people, sure, but not each other, so why the hell was it like this?
That didn’t stop him from avoiding Andre at lunch, though, and it didn’t stop him from leaving school right after the final bell instead of waiting at the flag pole like usual.
He avoided the park again, heading for the convenience store. Today was Tuesday, which meant Rebecca would be the one at the register, not her father. She let them just hang around in the air conditioning as long as they didn’t make a mess and occasionally helped her with the shoplifters. Sometimes she even snuck them a donut or a snow cone or something.
Michael was only there ten minutes when Andre walked in. He was by himself, and they froze once they saw each other.
He unfroze first. “I have to go,” he said, heading for the door.
“Wait, Michael,” Andre said, catching up. “Wait.”
“What?” Michael asked, defensive.
Andre shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking anywhere but at Michael’s face. “I don’t really like Jackie,” he mumbled.
Michael wasn’t sure why, but it felt like something loosened in his chest. He liked it. “You don’t?”
“No. I just said I did because—because I don’t know, because I just did.” He shrugged.
Michael nodded as if that made perfect sense. “I don’t really like Sally,” he told him, and Andre smiled a little.
“Okay,” he said. “And it’s not weird if you don’t like anyone.”
“Yeah, but I think I might like someone after all,” he said before he could stop himself, wincing when he realized he couldn’t take it back.
Andre frowned. “You do? Who?”
Michael glanced around the store. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
They left, and Michael headed for the park, particularly one of the trails that no one ever used because there were way too many bugs. “Why do we need to be all the way back here?” Andre asked, swatting a mosquito.
“We just do,” he said.
“Come on, just tell me who you like. I won’t tell anyone.”
“I don’t even know if I really do,” Michael said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Who is it?” Andre demanded. “Is it Annie?”
“No.”
“Jenny? Wait, is it Jackie? Is that why you were pissed at me?”
“No, it’s not Jackie or Jenny.” Michael shook his head. “Just never mind! It doesn’t matter. I just…I don’t know, okay?”
“I’m your best friend!” Andre sounded frustrated. “Why can’t you tell me?”
Michael did something then that he probably shouldn’t have, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. He pressed Andre back against a nearby tree and kissed him.
Andre didn’t punch him. In fact, Andre kissed him back, at least until he pushed him away and muttered, “If you pushed me up against poison ivy, Michael, I’m going to kill you.” Then he pushed him up against a tree on the other side of the trail and kissed him again.
Michael decided right then that he liked kissing Andre. He’d only kissed two other people in his life—Sally, on their one date, and a girl named Annabelle who didn’t even go to their school anymore, way back in fourth grade, as a dare. Neither had felt like this.
Kissing Annabelle had been awkward; he’d barely known her, and he’d had no idea what to do with his hands. Kissing Sally had felt like kissing a sister.
Kissing Andre, on the other hand…kissing Andre felt good. He didn’t know if they were necessarily doing it right, but it sure felt right, and he let out a soft noise. When they broke apart, breathing hard, they just looked at each other for a long while, not saying a word.
Michael swallowed. He was the first to break the silence. “If liking nobody is weird, liking your best friend is probably weird too.”
“Yeah,” Andre said. “But no one else has to know, right?”
“Like what really happened to Mr. Peterson’s lawn gnome?” he asked, smirking.
“It’s just another secret,” agreed Andre, smirking back. “Another awesome secret.”
Michael grinned.
There were some definite advantages to secretly dating your best friend, Michael decided. No one thought it was weird that you spent so much time together, and you could be left alone in your respective rooms—with the door closed.
Andre’s mother was even out of the house right now, doing some last minute grocery shopping, and they definitely weren’t wasting the time alone doing homework.
Michael let his math book fall to the floor as Andre kissed him, returning it with equal enthusiasm. They were getting pretty good at this, he thought; making out had never seemed like all that much fun to him before he and Andre started doing it.
He gasped, taking in a deep breath when they broke apart, grinning at each other. “How long do you think we have?”
“My mom takes forever at the store,” he said. “At least another hour.”
Michael grinned. “Awesome.” He leaned in and kissed Andre again.
“This is way better than homework,” he agreed, returning the kiss.
Michael laughed. “Yeah.”
It was after school when they ran into Harry Rockwell and his idiot group of friends gathered around the flag pole.
“What the hell is that about?” Andre asked.
“Nothing good,” Michael said, and they went in to get a closer look.
Michael frowned when he saw Martin Addler being forcibly taped to the flag pole with duct tape, tears streaming down his face. Martin was a shy, quiet kid, who mostly kept to himself and had never done anything to anyone. “What the hell, guys?” he demanded.
“Here to join the party, Michael?” asked Harry, grinning as he looked up.
“What the fuck are you doing to him?” Andre asked.
“Teaching him a lesson,” Harry said, glaring back at Martin. “Caught this fucking faggot checking me out after gym class, in the locker room.”
Michael and Andre exchanged a look. “You’re full of shit, Harry,” Michael said, moving to help Martin down. One of Harry’s friends tried to throw a punch, but Michael had plenty of practice dodging better-thrown punches than that. He also wasn’t above kneeing him right in the crotch to send him down. “Leave him alone,” he snapped.
Andre appeared right next to him. “Unless you want to take us both on?” he asked, grinning in that way that suggested he’d welcome it, that he was itching for a good fight.
Harry’s remaining friends gave him a worried look, and even Harry himself looked frustrated. “Seriously?” he said. “You’re sticking up for this fag? Why the fuck would you do that?”
“Anyone you don’t like has to be worth getting to know,” Andre said, turning that grin on him. Michael snorted and started untaping Martin from the pole, this time without anyone trying to stop him.
“What the fuck ever,” Harry said. “This isn’t worth my time. Let’s get the fuck out of here, guys.”
They stomped off, and Michael and Andre continued freeing Martin. “You okay?” Michael asked.
“Yeah,” Martin said quietly. He looked a little relieved, but mostly resigned, like he’d gotten used to this kind of thing. “Thanks.”
He wandered away without so much as meeting their eyes.
Michael and Andre exchanged a look. “Fuck Harry,” Andre said.
“Seriously,” he said, then smirked. “What do you think, should he get caught with a knife or some drugs?”
Andre laughed. “Tough choice, but man, I like the way you think.”
There were some definite disadvantages to secretly dating your best friend, Michael decided. Trying not to hurt girls’ feelings when they thought you were single, all your other friends ribbing you about why you hadn’t gone out with this girl or that one, calling you chicken.
“‘I didn’t want to’ apparently isn’t a good enough answer,” Michael said, rolling his eyes as he dribbled the ball.
“Wouldn’t you just love to see the looks on their faces if we told them why we didn’t want to?”
Michael snorted. He took a shot, making the basket, and Andre grabbed the ball. “If only that would be worth it. Seeing their expressions...”
“Especially when they realized a couple of fags have gotten into more fights than the rest of them combined?” Andre grinned, taking his own shot—he also made it.
Michael grinned as he grabbed the ball. It was fun to imagine, but they both knew they could never do it. School would be unbearable. Being at home would be even more unbearable than it already was.
“Sucks that we can’t,” he said, taking another shot. That one missed.
Andre’s smirk dimmed. “Yeah.”
“We need a car.”
Given the desperate look in Andre’s eyes, Michael didn’t hesitate. He ran to the nearest car, Andre right behind him, and jimmied open the door. He had it hotwired in no time at all, and they were on the road before he asked, “Where are we going?”
“Stubby’s.”
Michael almost slammed on the brakes. “Stubby’s? Why the hell would you need to go there?”
“I have something I need to get to them.” He held up an envelope.
Michael narrowed his eyes. “You’re not working for them, are you?”
“It’s nothing, Michael. I just deliver a few things. This one’s late, though—the guy I was supposed to pick it up from was totally fucked up, and if I don’t get there quick, they’re going to think I just took it—”
“We’ll get there.”
Andre relaxed slightly.
They did get there, and Andre made his delivery in the nick of time. When they were back in the car and heading toward a neighborhood where they could leave it, Michael spoke up. “Why are you working for gangsters, Andre?”
“I’m not really doing that much.”
“They’re bad guys.”
“They’re not that bad.”
“You didn’t even tell me.”
“You’re not my mother, Michael,” Andre snapped.
He let it drop.
“I want to get out of here,” Michael said.
Andre took a sip from his bottle—now that they were older, seniors, Rebecca would sometimes slip them beer, in thanks. “Out of where?”
“Miami,” he said. “Florida.”
“Where would you go?”
“I could join the Army,” Michael said. “If I could get my dad to sign the permission slip, I wouldn’t even have to wait until my birthday.” He snorted. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I bet he wants me out of the house.”
“The Army?” Andre asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Why not?”
Andre shrugged, not saying anything. Michael frowned.
“He signed it,” Michael said.
“What?” Andre asked. He blinked. “Not—the permission slip? You were serious about that?”
“Of course I was serious,” Michael said, frowning. “You didn’t think I was?”
“I thought you were just talking, like we do,” Andre said. “You’re really going to join the Army?”
“What else is there?”
“There’s a hell of a lot,” Andre said, suddenly fierce. “There’s your family and your friends. There’s me.”
“What is there for me to do?” Michael countered. “I don’t want to turn into another thug.”
“Like me?”
“I didn’t say that,” he gritted out. “I just—I have to get the hell out of here. Or—”
“Or what?” he demanded. “Or you’ll end up like me? Say it! That’s what you mean, isn’t it? When the hell did you get too good for all this, Michael? Too good for me?”
“It’s different!” he insisted. “You’re working for bad guys, Andre. I won’t do it. I’m getting out.”
Andre just glared at him. “Then get the fuck out. What the hell do I care?”
Michael matched his glare before storming off. He didn’t look back.
Years later, Michael would look back and regret that conversation.
It was the last one they ever had.
Ricky told him after he’d been out of prison for almost two weeks. “You know, Michael’s in town,” he said.
Andre eyed his brother. That hadn’t been casual, no matter how he’d tried. “For how long?”
“Indefinitely, far as I can tell,” Ricky said, shrugging. “His mom didn’t go into detail, but something happened with his job that’s keeping him here. He helped me out a while back.”
“Good of him,” he muttered, mind reeling. The last time he’d seen Michael, they’d both been seventeen, and they’d gotten into the biggest fight of their friendship—and whatever the hell else it’d been.
I have to get the hell out of here, Michael had said fiercely. Or—
Or what? he’d shot back. Or you’ll end up like me? When the hell did you get too good for all this, Michael? Too good for me?
This is different. You’re working for bad guys, Andre. I won’t do it. I’m getting out.
Then get the fuck out. What do I care?
“You should call him.”
His brother’s voice broke him out of his reverie. Startled, he glanced up. “Yeah,” he said, after a beat. “Yeah, I should. I will.”
Ricky didn’t look convinced, but that was fair. He hadn’t even convinced himself.
Three months in and he was still keeping his promises. He hadn’t fallen back into the game. He had a legit job, crappy as it was, a graveyard shift stocking shelves. His ex was even letting him spend time alone with his girls, who were getting to know him again.
Things were good, so he really shouldn’t have been surprised when Ricky brought it up again. “Call Michael yet?”
He glanced up from where he was helping Tina draw a star. “Not yet,” he said. “I will. Once things settle down.”
Ricky raised an eyebrow at him. “Settle down?”
“Yeah.” It’d sounded weak even to his own ears, but what else could he say? How could he tell his brother exactly why calling Michael was such a hard thing to do, why it might be a fucking awful idea? “In a little while.”
“Look, Daddy, I did it!” said Tina suddenly, pointing proudly to her slightly-lopsided star. He smiled at her.
“You sure did, sweetheart. Great job.”
He kissed her head, ignoring the look his brother shot him.
“You’re not gonna call him, are you?” Ricky asked again, almost seven months since he’d been out and still going strong. “Michael, I mean.”
“I will,” he said, and he almost meant it. “It’s just complicated, Ricky. You don’t understand.”
“I understand how hard you took it when he left,” he said. “I understand you were more than just friends.”
Andre snapped his head up. “What?”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” he demanded. “I followed you guys everywhere. Hell, I wanted to be you. I saw you once.”
“You never said a fucking thing.”
“I may never have been as smart as you two, but I wasn’t stupid,” Ricky said, giving him a pointed look. “I knew what would happen if our dad had found out, or Michael’s, or, hell, even the rest of the neighborhood kids.”
Andre sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Fuck. All this time, Michael and I thought we were the only ones who knew.”
Ricky snorted. “Yeah, right. If his mom didn’t know, I’ll eat my shoe.” He eyed him. “So is that really all it is?”
“No,” said Andre. “It’s part of it, but…Michael had shit figured out. He knew what would happen if he stayed. Exactly what happened to me. I didn’t want to hear it. Calling him now, after all this time, what the fuck do I say?”
“Start with hello, go from there.”
Andre rolled his eyes. “You’re a fuck of a lot of help.”
Ricky smirked. “That’s what brothers are for.”
“I feel like I’ve got something to prove,” Andre admitted after another moment. “That I’m not a total fuckup like he thinks.”
“Oh, come on, he doesn’t think that.”
“Why not? I was a fuckup for a hell of a long time.”
“You’re not now.”
“So far.”
“You planning on something else you’re not saying?”
“No, but—”
“Then you’re not now.”
Andre gave him a look. “You’re the younger brother, Ricky. You’re not supposed to be the reassuring one.”
“Too bad,” he said, standing. “Call him.”
“I will,” he said. He did mean it that time. “But not yet. When it’s been a year.”
Ricky looked skeptical, but he must’ve read the look on his face, because he only nodded slowly. “Fine,” he said, heading for the kitchen.
“Hey, Ricky?” he called.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“He felt like he had to prove himself to you,” Ricky told Michael when it was just the two of them left, lingering at Andre’s grave. “That’s why he never called.”
He watched Michael’s expression churn. “He didn’t,” he said. “It would’ve been good to hear from him.”
“I told him that, but you know Andre. He had to come around to things his way.”
A ghost of a smile graced Michael’s lips. “Yeah, he did.”
“It meant a lot to him, you know,” Ricky added casually. “What the two of you had.”
Michael was a hell of a lot better at concealing his emotions than Andre, but Ricky could still see the shock. “He told you?”
“No. I knew.”
Michael swallowed and didn’t say anything for a moment. Eventually, he shook his head. “It, uh—it meant a lot to me too.”
“Duh,” said Ricky, grinning just a little. Michael smiled back.